


And they call me from beyond the stars

by GlitterIbbur



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, Best friends supporting each other through trauma!, F/F, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Grieving, Hurt/Comfort, Major character death but she's a ghost so it's, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Technical U-Hauling, bed sharing, i translated the mourner's kaddish into kryptonian, i'm a sap, kryptonians are space jews and you will pry that away from my cold dead jewish fingers, let's address kara's trauma 2k17, not as bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2018-12-15 02:24:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 78,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11796468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterIbbur/pseuds/GlitterIbbur
Summary: When Kara hears the news about a flight bound from National City to Geneva spiraling out of control, she doesn't hesitate before racing skyward to save her sister. And after a exhausting and terrifying struggle, she's successful! She pulls the plane into the water and saves the day, like the hero she's finally ready to become.At least, that's how it had seemed. But something's gone wrong. Horribly, catastrophically wrong. Now, Kara can hear the voices of her parents echoing down from the night sky, begging her to join them. But she doesn't know how, and she refuses to leave without saying goodbye. And why can't Alex see her? And why, of all people, can Lex Luthor's little sister?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A HUGE thank you to my betas, Alex (blatant_sock_account here and rock-moms on tumblr) and Kal (MsSirEy here and mssirey on tumblr) for all their support and encouragement! Yes, those are their names. No, we didn't plan this.

Cold.

That’s the first thing Kara notices as she struggles to wake up. She’s lying on the bottom of the National City Bay, facedown, and her neck _really_ hurts. And she’s cold. Everywhere.

Has she ever been this cold? Maybe once, when she was younger. But never on Earth. She can’t feel anything but the chill in her bones and the pain radiating from the base of her skull.

With a watery groan, she rolls over. The bay is deep and she can barely see the surface above her, the lights dipping and blurring in nauseating waves.

It’s eerily silent underwater. Her superhearing can barely pick up the commotion above her, but the choppy waters betray a frantic energy at the surface. Faint sirens cut in, almost out of range—Alex.

Alex.

 _Alex_.

The plane, to Geneva. Alex. Alex was on the plane. The plane was crashing. Kara had fled the restaurant, shedding her favorite jacket and leaping into the dark sky—

The sky! Flying! Kara had flown for the first time in years! She’d almost forgotten how—not how, the mechanics were simple, but how it _felt._ Free. Liberating. Like a rush, with the wind in her face; like plunging off of a waterfall or the sweet victorious moment when you kiss someone you really like for the first time.

And she’d saved the day! It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, physically. She had _no_ idea how Kal-El does it it, stopping planes and trains or whatever it was he does. He makes it look easy, but up there, with the smooth metal under her fingers, hurtling downward scary-fast as the plane’s momentum and weight dragged it burning out of the sky—she tried to pull it backwards, but that hadn’t worked, so she went under and _pushed_ until she could feel the metal buckle and the plane start to slow and level out.

But then! The bridge! The Otto Binder Bridge! They were heading straight for it, and there was no way Kara alone could stop the plane or make it swerve, so she’d pulled with all her might, crumpling the bottom of the plane like aluminum foil as she tilted it sideways and through the cables. There were cars on the bridge, so many cars lined up with terrified people inside. The people in the plane must have been terrified, too—Kara thought she spied Alex’s face through the plane window, flat and wide and terrified. Kara wouldn’t let them die, not her sister or the other passengers, not today, not ever.

Once clear from the bridge, Kara had pulled the plane level again and then dragged it into the water. She tried to land feet-first, but the force of the impact had slammed her up against the plane before twisting her and sending her tumbling to the bottom of the bay.

 _Alex_. Kara needs to see her, needs to make sure she’s okay. With a twist, she’s free. She fights the currents to the surface, bursting through the water with a gasp. No one can see her in the water, just a dark head bobbing amidst rescue helicopters and police boats and the wreck of the plane. 

Kara sucks in a deep breath and paddles away from the action. She pulls herself out of the water on the opposite side of the bay, into the shadows and out of the way of the searchlights. Squinting, she uses her x-ray vision to search through the crowds for Alex but she can’t manage to catch a glimpse of her in the chaos.

Kara is dripping wet and freezing but not worried. Alex will find her. She always does. With a smile and a small jump, Kara is airborne and hurtling towards her apartment, so fast she’s invisible, already dreaming of the extra-cheese pizza and garlic bread she would order as soon as she got home.

* * *

Her apartment window is open, which is weird but not unheard of. Kara’s a bit of a scatterbrain; she hates how stuffy her apartment gets and sometimes she forgets to close the window before she leaves. This time, it’s a convenience. Kara tumbles through the window and into the living room.

Her flight had dried her off, but she’s still _freezing_. But before she can go mess with her thermostat, Alex bursts through Kara’s bedroom door. Her eyes are wide and her pulse is frantic.

“Alex!” Kara cries, launching herself at her sister. She wants to hug her close, wants to wrap her arms around her back and squeezing because she’s so excited. She doesn’t care that she’s dirty from the bay or that she’s a little too excited to keep her superstrength in check because Alex is _alive_ and _well_ and Kara saved her and everyone else. Kara is a hero!

Alex doesn’t seem to notice. Kara’s hands wrap around herself as Alex ducks out of her way.  

“Kara?” She calls out to the apartment.

Kara pulls back, reaching for Alex’s forearms. “Alex! It’s incredible!”

But Alex moves away. “Kara? Oh my God.”

“I know! I still can’t believe I did it!”

“Kara?!” Alex calls again, her voice shrill and angry in panic. She steps around Kara and heads towards the open window.

“Alex!” Kara turns, confused. “Alex, I’m right here. Were you scared? I was scared too, but you—you must have been _terrified_.”

Alex doesn’t respond, instead pulling out her phone and rapidly tapping it. “Director Henshaw? She’s not here.”

Kara’s face falls. “What? Alex, I’m right here!” Maybe the crash had hurt Alex somehow, maybe she couldn’t see—

“I’m at her apartment right now, and she’s still not here. Are you sure no one saw her leave?”

Kara hears a faint, deep voice on the other side of the call.

“I’m not coming in, sir. No, I need to wait here. I need to see her. I’m a doctor, sir. I’m okay. I _need_ to see my sister.”

Kara zips forward so she can grab Alex. “I’m right here!” She says, shaking her lightly. Alex doesn’t budge. She doesn’t budge because Kara’s fingers are closing on nothing, like she’s not even there. Kara stares at her hands, wide-eyed. They’re a little bit blurry, practically translucent—Kara can almost see the dark fabric of Alex’s blazer through them.

“I’m right here,” she whispers. “I’m right here, Alex. Can’t you see me?”

“No! Just—just stay there,” Alex snaps at her phone. “I’ll come in as soon as I know Kara is okay.”

“Alex? Alex, please, why can’t you see me?” Kara cries. “I’m right here, I’m okay, I saved you. I saved everyone. Alex? Why can’t you see me?” She tries to cling to Alex but she can’t grab on. Her fingers close against themselves, cold, in the space where Alex’s shoulder is.

Alex just clutches the window frame, her knuckles white.

“Alex,” Kara pleads. “Alex, please look at me. I’m right here! I’m right here!”

But Alex doesn’t move, doesn’t stop scanning the sky.

* * *

Alex stays in Kara’s apartment all night, still clutching the window. She jumps at every noise, her heart picking up hopefully every time her phone buzzes or someone upstairs stomps.

Kara spends the rest of the night curled up on the floor next to her sister, whimpering. She forgets sometimes and reaches out to touch her leg or ask her a question, crying harder when her fingers slide through air and Alex doesn’t respond. She cries until her throat feels scratchy and her head throbs.

There’s a forceful knock right as the sun begins to rise. Alex jumps and throws Kara’s front door open. There’s a large black man she doesn’t recognize standing there. He’s older, with wise and close-set eyes, dressed in black fatigues.

“Director Henshaw!” Alex moves as though she’s going to touch him, but she pulls back and takes a deep breath. “Director Henshaw, she’s not here.”

“I know, Agent Danvers.” Director Henshaw says, closing the door behind him. His voice is deep and resonant, gravelly and warm.

“I waited all night,” Alex whispers.

“Agent Danvers—”

“She must still be in the water somehow. I _know_ I saw her, I _know_ she was there. She stopped the plane, Hank. She must have found out, somehow, and came to rescue me—”

“Agent Danvers—”

“I—I’m going to tell her when she gets back, Hank. I know it’s sooner than we talked about. She’s young, but she can learn and she can help people! She _wants_ to help people. She _saved_ me. She’s going to be here soon, and when she is I’m going to tell her everything. About me, about the DEO—”

“Alex,” Director Henshaw says forcefully. He lays a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“No.” Alex crumples in a way Kara’s never seen before. Not when she and Vicki stopped being friends, not when she and her mom fought, and not even when they found out Jeremiah had died.

“We found her body at the bottom of the bay an hour ago,” Director Henshaw says, tightening his grip on Alex’s shoulder. Alex covers her mouth with her hands, staring at him in horror. Kara feels like she's been doused in ice water.

“No…”

“The force of impact transected her spinal cord through the third and fourth cervical vertebrae,” Director Henshaw continues. Kara rubs the back of her head, searching for something, anything, but it feels the same as it always does. The pain had subsided shortly after she had first woken up, leaving only a freezing chill in its wake. “She felt no pain.”

“No, no!” Alex shakes her head, weakly struggling against Director Henshaw’s grasp. “She’s strong, she’s unbreakable—” Her voice hitches, and she brings a shaking hand to cover her eyes.

“She’s not immortal,” Director Henshaw says delicately as Alex begins to sob. He pulls her in tight, cradling her head against his shoulder. “Your sister was brave, and she loved you a lot. I looked forward to working with her.”

Kara is frozen in place, slack-jawed and panicking, a mantra of “we found her body” circling in her head. It didn’t make sense—it couldn’t be true. She was right there!

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way!” Alex pulls back, shrugging out of Director Henshaw’s grip. “She was going to be a hero! We were going to help her once she was ready!”

“I know, Agent Danvers,” Director Henshaw clears his throat, shuffling backwards. His eyebrows knit and his voice caught in his throat. “Her loss is a great one for you.”

“For everyone!” Alex snaps. “She was important to _everyone_ . She wasn’t s-supposed to go like this. She w-wasn’t supposed to d- _die_ like this, Hank.”

Alex’s voice cracks on his name. Her sobs wrack her body, pulling deep, tortured sounds from deep in her chest that make Kara’s chest ache. Director Henshaw pulls Alex close, and she doesn’t fight him this time, just settles limp against his chest. “I know, Alex. I know.”

They hold each other for a while. Director Henshaw cries silently while Alex sobs, clutching his collar like a lifeline.

Kara is sick. Her stomach is turning and her body is numb and her heart hurts. It’s like losing Krypton all over again, like every bad thing rolled into one, watching her sister break apart like this.

“I need to call Mom,” Alex whispers, eventually. “I n-need to tell her what happened. Oh God, she’s going to kill me. I promised I’d keep Kara safe, Hank. She’s never going to forgive me.”

Director Henshaw purses his lips. “I will be here to support you, Agent Danvers. I do not think it would help her to hear from me, but I am here for you. I promise.”

Alex fishes her phone out of her pocket, then hesitates. “Hank—” she begins. “Director Henshaw. I need to see her first, I need to…”

Alex curses and begins sobbing again. Director Henshaw clears his throat and rubs her shoulder, murmuring in a language Kara can’t quite place.

But she’s seen enough. Staying to watch her sister fall apart would only hurt her more, and Kara doesn’t think she could take the heartbreak. So she kicks off, flying through the open window. She can’t… she can’t _stay_ and watch Alex cry like that.

Kara goes to Noonan’s, her favorite restaurant. She goes there every day before work and often for lunch as well. Their cinnamon rolls are to die for, all spiced sugar and tender dough in a giant, swirled package. A cinnamon roll sounds nice and comforting—Kara can practically taste the warm, gooey sweetness playing over her tongue. She waits for a moment in line before the thought hits her that, even _if_ she managed to order anything, would she even be able to eat like this?.

The thought makes her start crying again.

She goes back to the scene of the crash. Now, in the light of day, there are hundreds of vehicles and rescue workers. Everyone has a job to do and is doing it well; she's never felt more useless.

Kara flies to CatCo. Cat is already in her office, tapping her wrist impatiently while she waits for the coffee that will never arrive.

Kara watches with an ache in her chest as Cat calls her desk. There’s no answer.

“That _girl_ ,” Cat spits, stalking out towards Kara’s desk, “knows I keep her around for _two_ reasons, one of which is that she starts my day with coffee.” Finding Kara’s desk empty, she makes her way over to Winn. He jumps. “Kiera! Where is Kiera?!”

Kara trails after her, her mouth and nose twitching in anxiety.

“She’s not here, Ms. Grant,” Winn says, pushing off from his desk, eyes nervously scanning the room as if waiting for Kara to arrive and bail him out. “Uh, I’m as confused as you are, believe me!”

“Kerah is never late,” Cat snaps. “She is never late and she is never absent. Find her, and when you do, tell her she’s fired.”

“I’m right here!” Kara yells. As she expected, no one notices. “I’m here!” She yells louder, pointless but cathartic. “You can’t fire me because I didn’t show up for work because I’m _dead_!”

Oh, Rao.

Dead.

She’s dead.

She’s a _ghost_.  

It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real.

Kara screams that she’s not dead and slams her fists through Winn’s desk, but her hands just slide ineffectively through the metal. Cat spins and heads back to her room. Kara reaches out to touch Winn’s shoulder. He shivers, and hope blooms in Kara’s chest, but when she tries again he’s unaffected. He reaches over the desk to grab his phone, and Kara can see him find her number and begin to call. She imagines her phone buzzing, way down in the bottom of the bay, or maybe it was recovered with her...

 _No_. Kara shivers. Winn taps his fingers against his desk, chanting “C’mon, pick up, pick up, pick up,” under his breath. Finally, she hears her voicemail begin in that eerie, disjointed, self-conscious way that hearing her own voice has always sounded like.

“Hey, Kara!” Winn says as he leaves her a voicemail. His voice is overly chipper, as it is when he’s nervous or, specifically, afraid of Cat Grant. “Just wondering where you are. You’re, like, _never_ late to work and Cat is going to have your head, soooo… see you at work, soon!”

He hangs up and rests his head gently against the desk. “Stupid, _stupid_ , stupid.”

“I’m right here, Winn,” Kara sighs, resigned to being ignored. She clambers up onto his desk and settles in next to his computer. “I guess I’m just going to spend the day with you, then.”

Kara kicks her feet, watching Winn surreptitiously switch between a video game and his work. He checks his phone every five minutes, growing increasingly twitchy as the morning wears on.

Kara watches the bustle of the office with unseeing eyes. It’s like she’s watching from behind a dirty glass, everything blurry and out of focus. There are swirls of color and movement and sound, but try as she might Kara can’t decipher what was going on. It’s almost like she isn’t there at all. Which she isn’t, technically. Kara bites down hard on her knuckles to keep from crying more.

She’s dreaming, she decides. Dreaming, because she can’t actually be _dead_ . And she definitely isn’t a ghost. Ghosts don’t exist. The whole situation is ridiculous. She must be dreaming everything: the plane rescue, waking up, seeing Alex. She’s probably at home in bed and soon she’ll wake up and go to work and live her life as happy, normal Kara Danvers. Because, well… who does she think she’s kidding? She isn’t a hero. Chasing after a _plane_ ? That’s not how she’s going to make her mark on the world. She’s just having a _very_ elaborate and vivid dream, but any second she’ll wake up and—

Winn calls her again, leaving another stuttering voicemail. She reaches for him and howls when her hand phases through his arm.

She’s alone. She’s alone and she hates being alone and she’s cold and she wants her sister and—

Winn’s phone rings. He leaps out of his chair and stalks to the elevators. Kara trails after him, wiping her freezing face with her equally-freezing fingers.

“Wait, who are you?” Winn says. “What do you mean she’s—slow down! I don't know who you are or why you're telling me—oh. Alex? _That_ Alex? Oh. Oh _God._ What? No! She can’t be, I saw her yesterday—you… you’re lying!”

Kara can hear Alex’s voice on the other side of the call and her heart plummets.

“No, please tell me you’re lying,” Winn pleads. “She _can’t_ be—oh _God_.”

Winn drops his phone as his legs collapse. He slides down the wall, feeling absently behind him to soften his descent. He doesn’t cry, doesn’t move, just stares straight ahead.

Kara kneels in front of him, close enough that their noses could touch. His eyes are really pretty, she notices, a gold-green hazel. They’re glazed over, and he doesn’t make eye contact. He doesn’t even see her at all, just stares right _through_ her to look at her empty desk with a blank face.

Kara shivers. It’s too much, it’s all too much. She floats away, out through the wall and down several streets, before flying back up to Cat’s office. Being unseen somewhere familiar feels better than being invisible in a strange place.

But when she returns, Cat’s office is in chaos.

“What do you mean she has _died_ ?” Cat screeches, waving her hand in front of Winn’s sickly face. “Kiera _cannot_ have died without a two week’s notice. She’s a stellar assistant. She wouldn’t—she wouldn’t _leave_ me.”

Winn doesn’t budge.

“This is some prank,” Cat mutters, returning to her desk. “Reveal the hidden cameras to whatever insipid, cruel prank-based reality show is currently leeching our nation’s attention span. The joke is over, and I do not believe your bullshit!” She stares hard at Winn, as if actually expecting him to fold under the pressure. “Kiara can’t just _die_.”

“Kara,” Winn says. Kara looks up hopefully, but her heart sinks when he looks through her. There’s an uncharacteristic fire behind his eyes. “Her name is _Kara_.”

Cat narrows her eyes, but Winn stands strong.

“Her name is Kara!” Winn shouts. Cat’s glower looks ready to set him ablaze before Jimmy— _James_ Olsen walks in, clutching a plastic folder. He’s good natured and handsome in a way that puts Kara at ease, or at least it used to. She felt better around him, giggly and light. And he knew Clark! He was friends with Clark. Kara had fervently hoped they could be friends as well.

“Kara?” He says, looking right at her. Kara gasps and nods, grateful, and is left standing behind him with her quickly fading smile as he walks right through her. “What about Kara?”

“She’s—” Winn says, his throat tightening.

“She’s really gone, isn’t she?” Cat whispers, barely acknowledging James’s presence.

“Gone?”

“T-there was an accident last night,” Winn whispers. “I—she was going on a date, and she was so excited, and I _tried_ to… if I’d tried harder, maybe it wouldn’t have happened…”

“I…” James looks sick. “I-I need to call her cousin. I’m sorry, I’ll be—I need to call Clark.”

 _Clark._ Kara curls into a ball on the floor of Cat’s office. Her cousin, her only living blood relative… she’s failed him twice now. She was never enough, could never fulfill her purpose, but at least she was _there_. He’d always been too busy to spend much time with her, and he always got called away last minute, but she knew he loved her. That’s what was most important. But they’d never visited the Fortress of Solitude together, they’d never raced over the Pacific, she’d never taught him Kryptonian…

Cat wordlessly pours herself and Winn a tumbler of scotch. She downs hers before pouring another one while Winn stares at his blankly.

Kara crawls towards the exit, holding the breath she doesn’t need until she can fly through the glass windows and into the bright and cloudless National City sky. Desperately, she floats down until she spies a young family walking towards a park. She can’t bear to watch her friends and family break apart like that anymore, but she can’t be alone, either, so she trails behind them.  

Why was this happening? What had she done to be cursed like this? Why, Rao, was she caught between Earth and His light?

Kara jumps from person to person for the rest of the day, trying to get absorbed in the details of their lives. She loves National City so much, loves the people there. The energy from all the good people she’s met—and the potential of those she hasn’t—have always helped to fill a Krypton-shaped hole in her chest.

Nothing could ever, ever rival her love for her home planet, of course. But there were so many bright, interesting, and _good_ people in National City that it eased her grief. She wasn’t Superman, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t valuable. Cat Grant was a civilian hero, and Kara wanted to be one too, even if her job was more fetching coffee and layouts and less bringing matters of great importance to people’s attention than she’d have liked. Living on Earth, having a second chance to make her family proud with the life she has—had, Rao, _had_ —was a gift that she needed to repay.

Kara tries to absorb herself in mundane details, to wash away the thoughts of her—her _death_ with the daily lives of the people of National City: the pattern of a young man’s sweater, the gloss of an old woman’s hair, the breathy giggle of a toddler. They were vibrantly alive in their mundanity, and for precious moments Kara was able to dissociate before reality stabbed her again.

By midnight the streets are empty, and most people had gone to sleep. Of course, a few people remain awake: first responders and emergency room workers, who Kara admires but can’t bear to trail, and some bargoers that Kara has no interest in following.

The silence threatens to crush her. The stars are dim, obscured by streetlights and clouds. Kara floats upward without thinking, drawn to the stars like she’s being called home.

So many things on Earth still remind her of Krypton: looking out over cityscapes, grand museums and vermilion sunsets. The stars, especially when she’s out in the country far away from artificial light, call to her. They sing, almost, humming with distant energy that she feels in her cells, in her bones and in her sinew. She’d only felt called that way once by something on Earth: on a boat near the Arctic with Alex and Eliza, where a pod of whales had begun singing and she’d nearly jumped overboard to join them.

Normally, she can fight the pull of the stars and stay grounded, but now she’s alone and heartbroken and _dead_ . The stars twinkle, pulsating, while the planets glow steadily. She drifts up, up, up, and she swears the stars are saying _ina kah, ina kah, ina kah_. Our daughter, our daughter, our daughter.

Kara raises her hands, palms open towards the sky. “ _Ieiu te? Ukr te?_ Mom, Dad, why am I here? I don’t want to be here.”

She begins to weep, drifting farther and farther out towards space. But the stars don’t get closer and she can’t hear her parents’ voices anymore. And she’s alone, truly, so far out that humans can’t survive.

Flying isn’t liberating this time. It’s a chilling reminder of her incorporeality. She flies out to the stars again, hands outstretched like she can brush the pinpricks with her translucent fingertips.

Space is vast. Even travelling as fast as she could, Kara can’t traverse the immense, infinite bounds of space immediately. It takes her ages to reach the Asteroid Belt and even longer to spy Europa and Callisto circling Jupiter. Space is mostly empty, dark; the planets blinding and the distant stars even brighter in contrast with the inky background. The only reminders of humanity are the spacecraft Kara flies past: Cassini, Juno, New Horizons, the Voyagers. She remembers following the launches with Alex, so excited to watch humans reach the stars, but up close their irregular and metallic shapes are so far from the soft curves of the people she’d left behind that they repulse her.

Earth is the size of a cherry behind her when Kara reaches Saturn. The stars are still taunting her, calling.

“Am I crazy?” She asks, but she can’t hear herself. All she can hear are the stars, pulsing inside her body, vibrating inside her head. _Ina kah, ina kah, ina kah._

“I’m here!” She yelled. “ _Otem khuhp_!”

 _Kaozhgamodh rrip w rurrelahs_. Come home.  

“ _Ieiu_?” Kara can feel her throat work, even if she can’t hear. “ _Nahn khuhp_.” I am.

The chanting gets louder, thrumming through Kara’s body as the Earth gets smaller and smaller in the background. Time passes differently in space. Days, nights, weeks and months blend together as Kara drifts farther away from the Earth and its warm, yellow Sun. In space, there’s no way to track the passage of time: there are no days, nights, months and years to keep track of, just distant objects in an endless sea of blackness that get bigger as she approaches.

In the Oort Cloud, Kara is surrounded by a storm of icy fragments and rock shards. The dust reduces her visibility until she is blind and deaf, completely alone.

But still, Kara presses on. She needs to go home, to go to the hollow where Krypton once stood. Maybe she can’t follow into Rao’s light so far away; maybe there’s something there that she needs to find first.

When Kara emerges from the cloud, the stars call her louder. They might be the same stars she stared at for eleven years, but her new position renders them unrecognizable. They provide no comfort and give no indication as to which direction she should travel. The stars grow louder, pressing against her on all sides, and somehow in the infinity of space she’s claustrophobic. The darkness and isolation dig up long-buried memories of being stuck in the Phantom Zone, trapped and frozen and afraid. Just she is now.

She can barely see the Sun anymore, but it’s still the closest star.

 _Kaozhgamodh rrip w rurrelahs, ina te_. _Kaozhgamodh rrip w rurrelahs_. _Kaozhgamodh rrip w rurrelahs_.

“I can’t!” Kara screams so hard it hurts her throat, but it doesn’t cut through the silence. “I don’t know where to go!”

 _Kaozhgamodh rrip w rurrelahs, ina te_.

“ _Zharrof khuhp, Ieiu te_.” I can’t, Mom.

 _Sokaozhgamodh, Kara._ Please come, Kara.

“I’m sorry.”

Kara claps her hands over her ears, but it doesn’t drown out the stars’ taunts. Crying, she heads back into the comet cloud. Silence constricts her as she’s surrounded by a swirl of space dust and ice.

Her solitude must have made her hallucinate; her desperation tricking her into racing after imagined whispers, chasing ghosts.

The stars are quieter on the other side of the cloud. Now, the loudest thing calling Kara is the Sun, shining like a beacon at the edge of her sight. She flies towards it, grateful that the stars are dimming.

Kara is snagged in limbo between life and death, pulled by her loved ones on either side. In order to reconcile her impermeability, Kara needs to go home—to Earth. She needs Alex. Alex will know what to do, Alex will help her find where Krypton used to be and then she can go to it. She needs to say goodbye to Alex first. Then she can follow her parent’s voices and join them in the love of Rao’s light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to my betas, Alex (blatant_sock_account) and Kal (MsSirEy), and to everyone who commented and kudos'd. Thank you!

Navigating back to Earth is more difficult than leaving it. It’s rotating, slowly, surrounded by satellites and with dirty clouds obfuscating the land and ocean below. It’s further back from where it was when Kara left, having not quite completed a revolution. Or… at least she _thought_. How long had she been gone? Could years have passed? Five? Ten? ... _More_? Could Alex and Winn and Ms. Grant and everyone else be _dead_?

Panicking, Kara plummets to Earth, unable to even place the moment when she passes back into the atmosphere. She lands hard in the center of National City, though her landing doesn’t shatter the asphalt or raise a cloud of dust. Stretching her legs, so unaccustomed to _standing_ after however long she’d been in space, she looks around.

National City looks the same. It’s the morning, in what seems to be the late summer—the sunlight is yellow-orange through the city smog. The mannequins in the storefronts are modeling light sweaters and long pants inappropriate for the weather. A businessman cuts through Kara, a tiny breath of warmth trailing behind him left briefly lingering within her—the first in forever. Shuddering, Kara walks down the boulevard. She tries to find a newspaper or a sign, somewhere, so she’ll know when she’s landed. She eventually spies a bus driver checking her phone and Kara peeks at the date over her shoulder.

Oh.

It’s been ten months. Ten months of the world continuing without her. Ten months without her sister, without eating, without seeing sunrises and sunsets and flowers and traffic and dogs playing in the park and her favorite TV shows and new music videos.

People continue to phase through her as they go about their days, no reason to care about a dead girl hunched over herself on the sidewalk. It’s disconcerting, the faint bloom of warmth whenever someone’s nearby. Some people seem affected, too: they shiver or swat their necks after coming too close.

Kara often felt alone in a crowd, even when she was… even before now. She was an extrovert, much to teenage Alex’s dismay. She’d always loved being around people, doing things, going on adventures. Being alone meant suffocating boredom and no constructive outlet for her energy; being around people calmed the quiet screaming and incessant itching to _do something_. She hated being cooped up inside. Rainy days and long car rides were her enemies. But. But sometimes, no matter how many people she surrounded herself with, Kara still felt alone. Isolated. Different. _Alien_.

And she _hated_ that. But she’d always had her sister to ground her, had her friends and her job and the waitstaff at her favorite restaurants, who knew her by her lengthy order if not her name. Now, she has nothing but a feeling of persistent cold.

 _Alex_. Kara needs her sister. Guilt burns her stomach when she remembers how she left Earth nearly a year before. She'd been a coward, flying away from the fear and pain and cold, slipping out unnoticed rather than _see_ the heartbreak she'd helplessly caused. She should have checked in on Alex. She should have tried to say goodbye. But the stars had been too loud and mesmerizing, calling her with voices she ached to hear but couldn’t quite remember.

But Alex will know what to do. Alex will know how to get her home. There had to be some way she could contact her, _some_ way to make her presence known. Rao wouldn’t curse her to limbo like this. Once she knows where Krypton is—where Krypton _had been_ —she’d go and join her family. She could almost feel her mother’s hand on her face, soft and dry, and see her dad’s warm smile, and hear her aunt’s tearful pride when Kara asked thoughtful questions.                

Of course, there’s never been a day where Kara _didn’t_ miss her family and her old life, but she wouldn’t let it consume her—she’d made the conscious, ongoing, and often-difficult choice to let herself _live_. She had survived for a reason and, in that, she could honor her family’s memory by thriving instead of being consumed by grief. Her parents hadn’t sacrificed everything for her to sit at home and be depressed. No. They were martyrs so she could _live_ and be happy and enjoy every wonderful thing the Earth had to offer her: like ice cream, movies, puppies, bright yellow sunshine and _Alex_. The list could go on, of course. There was _so much_ that Kara learned to love during her time on Earth.

But now, she’s… she’s _dead_. She hadn’t survived. She'd failed her family for the final time, had allowed the legacy of Krypton to slip through her fingers, lost forever to history with her death. And for the first time since losing them, Kara allows herself to be fully drawn away from her life on Earth by the spirit of her family. She hadn’t wanted to fight anymore. She wanted to go home. She _wants_ to go home.

She heads towards Alex’s apartment, following the same path she always took. She could probably find Alex’s apartment in her sleep. This time, though, when she arrives at the nearby building, she allows her feet to lift up away from the sidewalk in plain daylight. As expected, nobody reacts when she flies up to the fourth floor. She phases through the window, taking in the familiar dark wood and pale walls and— _wait._

That isn’t Alex’s couch, or Alex’s TV, or Alex’s curtains, or Alex’s keys in the bowl by the door with the lion keyring Kara had gotten for her. Swallowing her panic, Kara checks the front door. It was definitely Alex’s apartment, but it wasn’t _Alex’s_ apartment. Everything is different. Everything is wrong.

Kara checks the other rooms. They’re empty, but it is clear Alex does _not_ live here anymore: the spare room has butterflies on the walls and children’s clothing in the closet, and the master bedroom is filled with men’s work shirts and lumpy, homemade pottery.

Kara’s head spins. Alex can’t be _gone_. She can’t be! She wouldn’t just _leave_ Kara, she _couldn’t_ —except that she _had_. Because Kara had left her first. Kara chokes back a sob and flies out of Alex’s apartment. Maybe—maybe she’d gone back home. Maybe she’s in Midvale, visiting Eliza. It takes Kara only minutes to fly there with how fast she pushes herself to move, and she phases through the roof to get inside faster.

But the house is cold and lonely, a sad shell of the boisterous and loving house Kara had been raised in. The only room that looks lived-in is Eliza’s. There are dirty clothes in the hamper, makeup and jewelry on the dresser, some scattered papers and letters on the desk and a stack of worn library books on the nightstand. Kara spies her old threadbare Toto stuffed animal on the bed and her… her death certificate on the desk, partially buried beneath a small stack of paintings Kara had made for her in middle school. Acid rises up in her throat.

Being here, in her empty childhood home, hurts too much. Alex isn’t here, and Kara can’t bear to see Eliza. She can’t bear to face her grief. She needs instead to go back to National City, needs to figure out another way to find Alex, and then a way to _reach_ her. Kara launches into the sky, hurtling towards National City.

Her old apartment is different as well; all of her belongings were gone and a young, fitness obsessed couple had moved in. It’s awkward and half-familiar and weird, and Kara doesn’t know where else to go. And so she spends the night hovering over a couch that she can tell is hard and uncomfortable without needing to feel it, staring at the ceiling of her old living room while a strange couple slept fitfully in her bedroom.

Around dawn, Kara leaves, shuddering from the heebie-jeebies. Never again, she promises herself, would she spend the night in her old apartment, at least not while strangers lived there.

Kara spends a few days waiting around places she knows Alex frequents: her gym, a coffee shop with the most bitter roasts Kara ever tried, and a bar where the floors are always sticky and no one talks to each other. But she never shows.

Even though she and Alex were—are, _were_ —so, so close, Kara’s forced to realize all at once that she knows very little about her sister. Not even where she _worked_. Kara’s sure Alex had mentioned the name of her lab, but—but now Kara can’t remember the name or even what she _did_.

And, _Rao_ , Kara doesn’t even know if Alex has  _friends_. Kara had always been so insistent that Alex meet Winn that she’d never stopped to ask if Alex had anyone _she_ wanted to invite over for game night. And Kara knew—Kara knew that Alex and Winn would get along. She could already imagine Alex playfully rolling her eyes at Winn the same way she’d always done for Kara, and Winn having someone else to discuss science fiction and conspiracy theories with. And it had just never occurred to Kara to invite anyone else! But now Kara is gone and she can’t find her sister because she barely _knows_ her. Had… had all their talks really been so one-sided that Alex could easily ask Kara about the people at CatCo by name, and Kara can’t even say for sure what Alex _did_ for a living? The thought fills her with guilt, makes her want to shrink into herself at the thought of how much of Alex’s life had been devoted to Kara since the very first day they’d met, without reciprocity or Kara even _appreciating_ all Alex did for her.

And so, with no leads and no ideas, Kara spends the next two months listlessly following strangers, searching. She hadn’t even meant to—to start _stalking_ them, but she’s lost and lonely and she can’t find her sister. So she shadows people to stave off her loneliness, getting lost in their mundane lives because it makes her feel connected. Kara lives their lives with them, checking in on various families and people while they eat, talk, work and dream, always oblivious to her presence.

Or not so oblivious. Some people seem to feel her—or, rather, they feel _something_ —even if their conscious minds refuse to see her. If she’s alone in a room, sometimes people will walk in, shiver, and leave without thinking why. They’ll stiffen and gasp if she touches them, or shiver if she stands too close. Dogs bark, and cats stare silently.

Kara and a baby make surprised eye contact one afternoon. Her name is Asha, and she’s just turned one. She has a small patch of dark, silky hair on the very top of her head that her mom, Chandra, lovingly combs out and pins ribbons to. Chandra works nights at a Chili’s so that she can spend her days with her daughter. They dance around the apartment every morning while Chandra makes oatmeal with strawberries for breakfast. Kara loves to watch the two of them interact, every moment imbued with a fondness and warmth that almost reach her.

When Asha notices her, Kara, overjoyed for a rare chance at interaction, makes a goofy face. Asha startles and starts to cry. She wails and gestures meaninglessly in her direction while Kara tries to comfort her, feeling naked and guilty for scaring her. Eventually, Chandra comes in and soothes her baby. Her kind shushing makes Kara’s heart ache.

The next day, she finds a new family to follow.

She lives for a while with a man named August, who comes home from work each night excited to tell his dog, Orpheus, about his day at work, his trip to the store, playing cards with his best friend or his crush on the woman who lives across the street from them. He doesn’t even know her name. His soliloquies get boring after a while, so Kara drifts until she meets a young video editor named Jenn, who bundles up in  a coat as soon as it’s cooler than 75 degrees. She just moved from Miami to National City, and she’s homesick.

It’s while following a young, sensitive man named Ahmad who’s studying dance at National City University that Kara prevents a crime. Really, actually stops a crime, all by herself! She’s at a party, surrounded by carefree college students, when she notices a young man trying to lead another, more obviously drunk boy upstairs. The predatory glint in the first boy’s eyes are chilling. So Kara stands at the end of the staircase, plants her feet on the ground and hands on her hips, and waits. The boys pass through her and mutually shudder, as if they can feel the force of her glare. They glance at each other, and without a word they turn back to leave, separating at the bottom of the stairs, whatever moment had been building between them broken by the unnerving sense of Kara’s presence.

“Yes!” Kara does a victory fist-pump, bouncing on her toes at the top of the stairs. She hasn’t felt so invigorated since the night when she’d chased after a burning plane. It’s the first time in so long she’s felt like something more than a useless specter, unable to do anything but helplessly watch something she knew was wrong unfold in front of her. It’s also the first word she’s spoken out loud since returning to Earth. Her voice creaks, unfamiliar to her own ears.

Maybe, in some small way, she could help people. She could moonlight as a guardian angel until she locates Alex and figures out how to get home.

Kara spends her days flying around the city, scanning for potential petty crimes. It’s a harsh, thankless job, and she feels like she’s witness to more crimes than she stops, but it’s still _something._ Sometimes, all a situation needs is a momentary distraction. A glance to the side, a hesitation, a bad feeling. And, if nothing else, Kara can still do that. She has a purpose. She’s a force of good in the world, just like she’d always wanted to be as a teenager, like she’d still secretly dreamed to be sometimes even as an adult. It quiets the listlessness that causes her to twist her hands until they ache or tear at her skin in frustration.

One bright morning, Kara traipses along a busy street in downtown National City. She’s following a young blonde with a poorly-concealed combat knife that is _definitely_ not legal when she spots two men climb out of a dark van. She watches them warily. They’re dressed like businessmen, but they have high-tech weaponry strapped to their bodies. So, nothing like an everyday mugger. But they don’t look like police, either; Kara can’t see any official insignia.

“Looks like trouble,” she whispers, beginning to trail them. The men split up, so Kara flies overhead in order to watch them. They head for the same building, a large, glass skyscraper close to Kara’s old bank on Cordoba street.

Kara follows the men up to the tenth story of the building, where they reconvene in a stairwell.

“You sure that’s who we’re after?” One asks, glancing a cell phone.

“Yeah, I was sent this mission directly. She should be with a group of people right now, so we need to get her alone. You go around this corner, and I’ll circle back. We don’t want to make a scene, and we don’t want to kill anyone unless we have to.”

“Gotcha.” The other man nods and shimmies his way across the stairwell. Kara peers over the first man’s shoulder. His phone is open to the picture of a young woman with dark hair and deep red lips. It looks like she’s giving a talk and smirking, the corner of her mouth curled and one eyebrow higher than the other.

She was the target. She was in danger. Heart racing, Kara runs through the wall and into to the center of the floor. They’re in a lobby, of sorts, and there’s a large window with lots of natural light streaming in. There are people going about their day, doing mundane office tasks, but a small group has clustered towards the elevators. Kara lands behind them, looking for someone who matches the photo. She spies her, wearing a fitted skirt and a blazer. She has the easy self-assuredness of a woman in her thirties, standing with a straight back and effortless confidence that made her stand out among the group so easily, but Kara can see that she’s teetering in her heels. Her face looks young, too, wide and flushed.  

A man in a silver suit clears his throat. “As you can see, Ms.—”

The woman interrupts, “Lena, please.”

The man chuckles uncomfortably. “All right, if you insist.”

Lena grins, sanguine. “I do.”

The man clears his throat and continues, “Well, as you can see, Lena, the tenth floor boasts an expansive atrium with two walkways towards the conference room…”

Kara tunes him out, watching Lena. For all intents and purposes, she’s relaxed and calm, but she’s picking at her cuticles. Kara scans for the two assailants and spots one of them trailing the group. The other one has almost reached the walkway, and—and he’s drawing a gun! No time left to strategize.

“Lena! You need to go!” Kara cries, running at Lena. Lena startles, and it feels almost as if she looks right into Kara’s eyes.

But Kara ignores the brief feeling, instead spinning her head to take in the room more carefully. “There are men here, armed,” she mutters hurriedly to herself, looking around for an exit. If Lena was sensitive to her presence, she could stand in the opposite end of where she wanted her to go, and hopefully she’d be repulsed enough to go where it feels less creepy. But, before Kara can even begin to position herself, Lena clears her throat, looks around and spots the man across the way.

“Pardon me,” she says delicately, stepping behind a woman in a coral top. “I do believe we need to call security. There is a man over there, and I suspect one behind us as well, carrying dangerous weaponry.”

Kara gapes. _How did she—could she? No, that was impossible._

The group Lena is in panics, but Lena herself remains calm. She guides them towards one of the conference rooms and shuts the door, ensuring that no one is visible from the outside, and Kara finds herself following behind, baffled. She slides easily through the door once Lena pulls it closed, and winds up making startled eye contact with her again. But then Lena shakes her head and pulls a taser from her bag. She holds it aloft, waiting beside the door.

“You can hear me?” Kara whispers, reaching towards Lena, who flinches and glares. _Glares_. Glares _at_ Kara! “You can see me?!”

Lena blinks quickly and shakes her head, eyes flickering from Kara to the door  and then to the scared people crowded against the wall.

“You can see me!” Kara cries, falling to her knees at Lena’s feet. She looks up at her, desperate and hopeful, her voice catching with tears. “You can see me.”

But Lena refuses to look at her again, insistent upon ignoring her even though Kara can see her staring out of the corner of her eye when she thinks Kara isn’t looking. She remains stoic until a uniformed police officer arrives, opening the conference room door and assuring everyone that they are safe.

Unperturbed, Lena tucks the taser back into her purse and dusts herself off, as if recovering from a minor inconvenience to her day rather than an assassination attempt. She turns to the man in the silver suit and gives him a tight-lipped smile. “I do appreciate the tour of this building, our little adventure notwithstanding. If your team is still interested in the deal, I would like to purchase it… though upgraded security is a must.”

Kara stares at Lena while she cooly wraps up the meeting. Every few minutes, Lena’s eyes meet Kara’s, and she jumps a little each time. After shaking the hand of everyone in the group, Lena finally makes a graceful exit, guarded by two police officers. Kara trails her, desperate to stay in her presence.

“I’m Kara!” She blurts out once they’re all in the elevator. One officer is clueless, but the other can clearly feel her; he keeps rubbing his arms and coughing. Lena’s expression is impassive, facing straight ahead even as her pale eyes dart back to Kara at her side.

“So, you can see me?” Kara asks again, shifting slightly from side to side and watching as Lena’s eyes follow her. Her whole body is thrumming with energy; after almost a year without talking to anyone, someone is _there_. Someone _notices_ her. Someone can see her, can hear her. She’s not alone anymore.

Lena pulls out her phone and taps through it. She refuses to look at Kara again, though she winces every time Kara calls her name. Kara tries to get her attention again a few more times, her smile dropping just slightly more with each additional time Lena ignores her. Finally, the elevator stops, and Lena’s out the doors not a second after they open, pacing away quickly without a second glance.

“Please, Lena, wait,” Kara pleads as they exit the elevator. “Please, you’re the first person I’ve talked to in almost a year. Please, answer me. Don’t leave me alone again. _Please_.”

She _knows_ Lena can see her, and she isn’t going to give up. Not when she finally—finally _has_ someone.

Kara refuses to leave Lena’s side, accompanying her to dinner and then back to her hotel room, making the occasional comment along the way, although she doesn’t expect Lena to talk to her in front of other people. That’s what the problem surely was earlier: they weren’t alone. “Please,” she begs once more when Lena locks the door behind her. “Please, I know you can hear me—”

“Leave me alone!” Lena finally snaps, collapsing against the closed door of her hotel room. Then to herself she mutters, “Don’t talk to her. She’s not real, this isn’t happening, she’s not real.”

“Wait, no, please,” Kara pleads. “I’m _real_ , Lena. My name is Kara Danvers, and I d-died—”

“ _Stop_ ,” Lena hisses, covering her ears and closing her eyes. “I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy! This isn’t happening.”

Kara trembles, frightened to lose the first real connection she’s had to the world in nearly a year. She reaches out for Lena’s leg but phases through it, her icy fingers dipping beneath Lena’s skin and causing her to break out in goosebumps.

“Oh, God,” Lena groans, jerking her leg away from Kara. “This isn’t real. Please stop. Please go away. Get out of my _head_!”

“You’re the only one who can see me, the only one I can talk to,” Kara begs. “Please, Lena, I need you to help me find my sister.” Her throat closes on the word sister, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Lena stills, though her eyes remain shut.

“My sister, Alex,” Kara continues. “I just want to say goodbye. I need to say goodbye.”

Lena shakes.

“I’m _not_ crazy,” she hisses in a wobbly voice. “I’m _not_ crazy.”

“No, you’re not! I promise.” Kara wipes her sticky face with the heel of her palm. “I-I don’t know how to explain it, but I’m… stuck here. I think I need to say goodbye to my sister before I can leave.”

Lena trembles as she opens her eyes. She squints at Kara and bites her lip, contemplating. “Okay. Okay, let’s say—if I help you, you’ll just… go away? Leave me alone?”

“Yes!” Kara leaps to her feet, beaming. “Yes! I mean, I think so!”

“God, I’m bargaining with a hallucination,” Lena moans, dropping her face to her hand. “I need to call an ambulance, I think. I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“No!” Kara leaps for the phone on reflex, though she knows she can’t grab it. “I promise you I’m here, and that you’re not crazy.”

A long, tense moment passes before Lena responds, but finally she gives in, her whole body seeming to crumple. She sighs deeply and turns away, begins rummaging in her purse. “I’m going to sleep,” she announces, not looking at Kara. “And when I wake up, you’re not going to be here.”

Kara’s face falls. “No, please, Lena. You’re the first person in almost a year who I’ve talked to—”

“And if you _are still here_ ,” Lena narrows her eyes. “I might help you.”

“Really?!” Kara bounces, reaching out to touch Lena’s arm. Lena jerks away from her, though, and Kara drops her hand to her side, undeterred. “Thank you!”

Lena groans. “Now just go, please. Don’t watch me while I sleep.”

“Yes, of course,” Kara says with a gulp. She floats into the the next room. “Goodnight, Lena!” She calls.

There’s a sigh and a _thump_ as Lena throws a pillow towards her. It falls through Kara’s chest, and she hears a final, tired curse before the door slams shut.

Once alone, Kara dances around the room. Someone heard her! Someone _saw_ her! She wasn’t alone anymore! She was one step closer to being free! Morning couldn’t come fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who has compared this story to Ghost/Ghost Whisperer/Medium/Just Like Heaven—I hear you and I promise I've never seen any of these works, so any similarities are coincidental! 
> 
> Thank you to my fabulous betas, Alex (blatant_sock_account) and Kal (MsSirEy), for all their patience, encouragement and reminders that it is okay to use adverbs sometimes.

Lena’s alarm goes off at dawn. Kara waits until she hears her stir before padding in through the closed door, mindful of her order to not be watched in her sleep. Lena is sitting up, dwarfed by a mountain of fluffy blankets, her hair mussed and her cheeks sleep-creased. She looks even younger than she did the day before, her face full and round and her eyebrows crinkled in early-morning confusion. She doesn’t react to Kara’s presence, even as her eyes follow Kara as she floats across the room to her.

“Hi,” Kara whispers, breaking the silence. “Good morning.”

Lena stares blankly as Kara crawls into bed with her. “Mornin’.” Her voice is startled and sticks in her throat.

“How’d you sleep?” Kara twists the threads of her sweater together, suddenly self-conscious. No one’s seen her in so long, and technically she hasn’t changed in nearly a year. Does she… smell? Is that even possible?

Lena laughs gravelly. “Horribly. I dreamed there was a ghost who wouldn’t stop following me.”

Kara’s chest pangs. She sucks in her bottom lip and looks guiltily at Lena, the first breath of an apology already clinging to her tongue.

But Lena just shrugs and turns away, tugging her fingers through her hair, working out the knots that built up overnight. Kara continues to worry her lip and her fingers, unsure of how to proceed. Finally, Lena breaks the silence.

“What are you, really?” she snaps. “Why are you here?”

Kara swallows, Lena’s questions immediately hitting her with a sense of homesickness.  

“My name is Kara,” she begins, trembling. “Kara Danvers. I died almost a year ago trying to save my sister.”

Saying it out loud makes it real. Kara _died_. She hesitates, stares past Lena and out at the impressive view from the hotel’s bedroom window.

Lena, oblivious to Kara’s sorrow, hums. “How heroic.”

“No, oh gosh,” Kara fumbles, drawn back into the moment all at once. “Me? No, no, I’m not heroic, not at all.”

Because, really, she’s not! Heroism is for people like Clark, who stare down danger even when they’re afraid, who refuse to be bystanders because they can’t ignore injustice. That wasn’t Kara. She wasn’t heroic. She’d had a single moment of foolish heroism, and she’d paid for it with her life. And now? Now, she was sinking back into the lies that had become automatic, instinctual, in order to  protect herself and her family. So, no, not heroic at all.

But she knows the denials spilling out of her mouth before she can think about them are the right choice. Just because she’s dead doesn’t mean she should reveal her former identity, put her family in danger. Besides, it’s not like she would be spending much time with Lena, if everything went smoothly. Kara just needs to hold on until they can find Alex.

Lena draws her eyebrows. She grabs her phone from the nightstand and taps through it, before dropping it onto the bed with a gasp. Kara catches sight of her own face staring back at her before Lena flips the phone over, her face pale.

“Well,” Lena says with resignation. “Kara Danvers. You’re not lying.”

Kara twists her mouth. Lena’s belief doesn’t feel as good as she’d hoped, not with her pallid expression. _She looks like she’s seen a ghost_ , Kara thinks, balling her fists.

“So you’re a… ghost?” Lena’s voice catches, like she’s unsure of speaking the word out loud.

“As far as I can tell, yeah,” Kara admits. “You’re the first person who can see me." 

Lena rubs her fingers together. “It’s blurry,” she whispers, looking down at her hands. “You’re blurry.”

“Oh.”

After a tense minute, Lena grabs her phone. “How’d you die?”

“There—” Kara’s throat works while she thinks. She can’t tell Lena the truth, that she’d chased down a plane and had died pulling it out of the sky. But she doesn’t know what story Alex would have spread instead and hates to even think about it. And so she lies: “I. Um. I don’t really remember much. I was with my sister and she was in danger and I couldn’t let her die.”

 Lena hums, scrolling through articles on her phone. “You said your sister’s name is Alex, right?”

“Yeah,” Kara murmurs, failing to hold back tears. She swipes at her face, brushing an ice-cold tear away, and takes deep breaths to steady herself. It hurts so, so much to think about Alex. She’d been able to avoid thinking about her too much, throwing herself into stranger’s lives until they weren’t strangers anymore, but now she couldn’t escape how she’d _abandoned_ Alex. She hadn’t seen or spoken to her sister in over a year. She hadn’t _hugged_ her, hadn’t wrapped her arms around Alex’s shoulders, smelled her rich, earthy perfume, and squeezed with well-practiced pressure. Where _was_ she? Was she eating enough? Did she have someone new to get weirdly intense with her while watching cop shows together? Did she have friends and—and maybe a boyfriend to keep her company now? Kara’d been pushing her to date and make friends, but had she? 

Or—

Did she—did she even miss her? No, she had—she _had_ to miss her. But—but maybe Kara’s death had also given Alex an opportunity to _live_. Maybe she was even doing better. Happier. Less tired, less stressed. Because with Kara as her sister, Alex could never, _ever_ live a normal life.. She’d once complained to Eliza, when Kara was still adjusting to life on Earth, that it wasn’t _fair_ that she couldn’t bring friends home anymore with how clingy and weird Kara was. And—and Kara knows, she’s known for years, that Alex loves having her as a sister even if it took her some months to adapt to it, but her words still echo in Kara’s thoughts, more than a decade later: “Why don’t I get to have my _own_ life?”

But now Kara isn’t there to hold her back

“Alex. That’s my brother’s name, too.” Lena’s wry words cut through Kara’s thoughts.

Kara makes a strangled noise that she tries to cover with a cough.

Lena types into her phone. She frowns, types something else, then shows Kara the screen.

“Am I spelling her name right?”

Kara reads _Alex Danvers National City_ in the search bar, but none of the results contain her sister’s kind eyes or witty smile.

“Yeah,” Kara reaches for Lena’s phone, but her fingers slice through the air. She pulls her hand back awkwardly and curls it by her chest. “But none of this is about her.”

“What does she do?” Lena asks, her thumbs poised over the screen, ready to type.

“Um, s-she works in a lab,” Kara says.

Lena nods, and when Kara doesn’t continue she looks at her, her face open and earnest. “And the name of her lab?” She prompts.

“I—it’s… um—” Kara breaks, sobbing into her hands. She doesn’t know! She doesn’t know the name of the place where Alex works! How could Alex have worked there for _years_ and Kara didn’t even remember the _name_? Surely Alex had told her. Surely she’d _asked_! “I-I just… I never got to say goodbye to her.” Kara chokes out between sobs. She can’t live without her sister. Kara had been alone for almost a year now, but her isolation had made it easy to dissociate, to live not as Kara Danvers but as a stranger’s shadow, to watch days and weeks slip by, to pretend like it wasn’t real that she’d died and abandoned her sister. But now, talking to Lena, answering questions—the enormity of her grief was overwhelming.

Lena watches Kara cry, her eyes wide and sensitive. She reaches out to touch Kara’s shoulder but pulls back when her hand passes through cool, empty air.

“Kara,” Lena whispers, wincing when Kara pulled her hands away from her distraught face with a jerk. “Please, stop crying? I’ll help you say goodbye to your sister.”

Kara lets out a laugh through her sobs and says, “Oh, _thank you_.”

Lena waves her off, awkward. “Don’t mention it.” She frees herself from the nest of blankets she’d created and flicks on the light. “Now, go,” she says, not unkindly. “I have work to do today. I’ll talk to you later, okay? I promise.”

Kara nods, barely holding herself together until Lena leaves for the day before descending into grateful sobs.

* * *

Kara doesn’t leave Lena’s hotel room the whole day for fear that she’d never return. She perches on the edge of Lena’s bed and waits, only moving politely to the corner when a wary housekeeper comes in to tidy the space.

Kara is stiflingly bored, without even the ability to watch TV or listen to music. She would normally go to a movie—she’s seen every new release since arriving back on Earth—or wait until she found someone with a book or a tablet so that she could read over their shoulder. But now that someone can see her, things are different. She _needs_ to be there when Lena returns to show her that Kara was still waiting for her help. 

An hour or two after the sun sets, Lena finally returns to her room. Her face is drawn, and she holds a paper takeout bag. Kara can’t read her expression; Lena seems to be just staring blankly at Kara, frowning slightly. She sets her bag down and toes off her heels at the door. Kara flashes her a smile and floats over to peer inside the bag, her face falling at the lack of fried, sugary, or fattening foods.

“I presume that you cannot eat in your incorporeality?” Lena asks, impassive, pulling out a salad and some sort of green juice. Her eyes flash when she catches a glimpse of Kara’s forlorn face. “What, are you judging me?”

“Of all the things you can eat,” Kara laments, “you chose _vegetables_?”

“Well,” Lena says defensively, “I happen to _like_ vegetables and the idea of living past 70, thank you.” A moment later, Lena blanches. “ _Shit_. Sorry, I didn’t—”

“No, it’s fine, really!” Kara laughs, more at Lena’s clear panic than the mediocre joke in the first place. She throws out her arms with a flourish. “Eat your boring healthy adult food, don’t mind me.”

Lena smiles, obviously relieved, and strips off her blazer and tights. She settles into her chair and holds her fork aloft, staring at Kara with a raised eyebrow.

“So, tell me, Kara,” she begins, gesturing in Kara’s general direction with her fork. “How did you find yourself in such a predicament? I could find _nothing_ of note in your obituary.”

Kara’s heart skips. “Well…” she draws out, falling onto a couch opposite from Lena and staring up at her. She sinks a few inches into the couch and wills herself to rise up. “I’m sure my life is—was—boring compared to yours.”

Lena arches an eyebrow. “Hmm. Yes, well, I could do for a little less excitement.”

“Oh! Right!” Kara rocks forward. “I forgot to check in—how are you doing? Why were those men after you yesterday?”

Lena’s expression sours slightly; the corners of her mouth pull down in a frown. It’s the expression of someone who’s run out of sugar for their coffee, not one of someone who survived an assassination attempt the day before. “They were tokens of appreciation from my brother.”

“Your—your brother?” Kara frowns. “Wow. He, uh, he has a weird way of showing his thanks.”

“Yes, well, he’s… not a good person,” Lena says delicately. She uncrosses and then recrosses her legs, and then stabs at a baby tomato before looking up at Kara. “I looked for your sister today,” she admits. “I couldn’t find her—I couldn’t find any mention of her, either.”

Kara draws her eyebrows together. “What?”

“I looked up every variation of Alex Danvers on every search engine I could think of,” Lena says, holding up her free hand and ticking the actions off her fingers. “I looked through school records, through social media, through print and internet news media sources. I looked through the employee records of every lab with a 100-mile radius of National City. Short of hiring a private investigator, I can’t tell you where to find her. I can’t even determine that she exists!”

Kara’s face falls. “She’s… gone?” But, that doesn’t make any sense! Alex couldn’t just _disappear_. Lena must not have looked hard enough; she must be missing something... But no, Lena’s face is earnest, her forehead crinkled in worry. She’s telling the truth.

“Apparently,” Lena frowns. “You wouldn’t happen to remember her phone number, would you?”

“No,” Kara begins nervously twisting the edges of her sweater again. “I went by her apartment a few months ago, and I couldn’t find her—she’d moved out by the time I got there.”

“Hmm.” Lena picks up her phone. “Is there someone who might know where she is? Should I call your parents?”

Kara shakes her head. “No! We, um, well. I’m adopted, actually—”

“Really?” Lena brightens. “I’m adopted, too.”

“Wow! What are the odds?” Kara grins briefly before continuing: “Our—her—dad died years ago. I…” She pauses, thinking of how to best explain what she wanted without revealing everything. “I just want to say goodbye to my sister. I think it would hurt our mom more if I said goodbye to her, too. It’s just Alex that I need to say goodbye to.”

“I could call your adoptive mom,” Lena suggests. “Pretend to be a friend from college or a business partner to get your sister’s number.”

Kara knits her eyebrows. “Eliza is too astute,” she explains. “She’d know something was up. And I can’t—I can’t put her through the pain of losing me again.”

It was more than that: Kara didn’t want to put herself through the pain of saying goodbye forever to another mother. The memory of watching Alex, Ms. Grant and Winn react to her death makes Kara sick. Knowing she was the cause of their pain was even worse. She’d destroyed her loved ones without meaning to, and she’d been cursed to helplessly watch the fallout. For the sake of her wellbeing, she couldn’t follow up with anyone else she knew from before. She doesn’t want to see them adapting to a life without her. Except for Alex—she _needs_ her help to find out where the shell of Krypton remains.

Lena nods, typing something into her phone. “Well, you’ve got my help until we find her. I’ll set up alerts for her name. And I’ll hire a private investigator tomorrow.”

“Oh!” Kara fumbles, stunned. “No, that’s, that’s, uh, super generous, but you don’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense,” Lena says. “It’s the least I could do. I don’t know how else we’ll find your sister, at this rate.”

Kara blushes and rubs the back of her neck. “That’s true. I, uh, thank you, Lena. Really.”

They lapse into a stilted silence, the only sounds between them lettuce crunching under Lena’s fork and her quiet chewing.

“So!” Kara exclaims. “Uh, how-how was your day?”

Lena hums around a mouthful of lettuce. She swallows and then says, “Surprisingly painless. No near-death experiences, no secret plans to murder me, so a good day all-in-all.” She glances briefly down at her salad, a small smile on her face. “Actually, you’ve, uh, inspired me, Kara.”

“Wh-what?” Kara sputters.

“I’m taking over my brother’s company, you see,” Lena begins, unperturbed by the obvious surprise in Kara’s voice. “And he was based in Metropolis, but I don’t want to stay there.”

“My cousin lives in Metropolis,” Kara says with a sympathetic chuckle. “I don’t blame you. It’s a horrible city!”

Lena laughs. “I’m glad you understand! So, I want to move L-Corp somewhere new. Somewhere trendy and sunny, where we can both spread our wings. And today I’ve decided to stay here in National City. I felt drawn to it. And now that I know I have a guardian angel here, I can’t just leave!” Lena flutters her eyelashes and leans in with a playful, flirty grin, her eyes sparkling.

But something nags at Kara’s mind. “L-Corp?”

Lena’s face falls, her grin replaced with a carefully neutral expression. “Do you not like it? I want to go in a… purposefully different direction while still maintaining brand recognition and without disavowing our origins completely.” Her words are stiff and rehearsed, devoid of the carefree warmth they held only a moment ago.

Kara nodded along with her explanation. “No, it’s, uh, good? What was it before?”

Lena’s expression darkens even more, like a sudden thunderstorm. “Luthor Corp. You may have heard of it,” she spits her consonants, her voice sharp. 

_Luthor_. Kara freezes, staring at Lena with wide eyes. Luthor. She was Lena _Luthor_. As in the little sister of _Lex_ Luthor, the ingenious engineer and business magnate who nearly blew the world up while trying (and nearly succeeding) to kill Superman. _That_ Lex, whose little sister is sitting across from Kara with passion in her voice and a gleam of fierce determination in her eye.

“You know,” Lena continues with venom in her voice, “we _used_ to be known for upstanding things such as renewable energy, environmental research, philanthropy, technological advances that could save the world, language revitalization, the construction of a children’s hospital or three... all until my brother went on a genocidal _rampage_. He killed a lot of good, innocent people on an insane quest to destroy Superman. He diverted the company’s resources into developing impractically expensive military technology and setting elaborate traps that destroyed cities and lives, but of course barely brushed against the indomitable Man of Steel.”

Lena’s voice is a bitter, acrid smoke that fills the room and threatens to choke them both. Lena’s eyes shine with barely-contained tears, and Kara wants to sink into her seat. She knows who she is, and who Lena is, and what they represent to each other. And Kara doesn’t want to know any more.

“Lex _ruined_ our family’s name,” Lena goes on with a frustrated sigh. “He nearly bankrupted the company. He tried to destroy the world. But he’s in prison now, serving 32 consecutive life sentences, and I’m here to make our name a force for good in the world again. By renaming what is now _my_ company, we’ll usher in a new age of cooperation and community in order to shape a brighter future. I was given a lot by being adopted by the Luthors. It’s time to repay my debts.”

“Oh,” Kara mumbles, suddenly intimidated by the fire in Lena’s eyes.

“I know this is horribly selfish of me to say,” Lena says, quieter than before. “But I’m rather glad we met. I’m grateful you’re my first friend in National City.” 

“Um.” Kara rubs the back of her neck bashfully, searching for the right words to say in response to Lena’s confession, her resentment and her earnest optimism. _Anything_ to say in response. “Golly!” She blurts out, cringing. _Really?_ Golly _? Could she not have come up with_ anything _better?_  

Lena smiles at her for a moment longer before looking back down to her salad, and Kara finally lets herself take a deep breath. Luthor or not, Lena is Kara’s only hope at reuniting with Alex and getting back to Krypton. But Kara’s still glad she’d kept her real identity and the true purpose behind wanting to say goodbye to Alex a secret. Just because Lena disagreed with Lex’s murderous inclinations didn’t mean she disagreed with him in other ways. It wouldn’t hurt to be cautious.

* * *

“Hey, Kara?” Lena asks a few mornings later, sipping coffee at her newly-purchased kitchen table in her newly-purchased _kitchen_ before heading to work. Her modest but well-built condo is piled full of cardboard boxes. “Who’s the president?”

“Oh, Olivia Marsdin!” Kara answers. “I’m _so_ glad she won. Isn’t she _great_? She’s such a strong defender of women’s rights, and she started a refugee program! _And_ a program to teach coal miners how to code.”

Lena hums around the rim of her square mug.

“What do you think of her decision to allow alien refugees to apply for amnesty?” Lena’s eyes search the space where Kara sits, stiff and awkward, her pulse skyrocketing.

President Marsdin’s Alien Amnesty Act was new—it had been first proposed several months after Kara had died. It granted any alien in the United States the rights of a citizen, although it meant they put themselves at danger by coming forward as an extraterrestrial. It had never been a perfect act of legislation: it exposed one current of undocumented immigration, of course, but it also made people into targets. Xenophobes on the right hated amnesty because it meant more “illegals” got privileges, and xenophobes on the left hated the decree because it left undocumented _human_ immigrants behind. And people in the middle got caught up in all the scaremongering. 

The whole thing made Kara feel almost guilty as an alien fortunate enough to be related to the world’s most beloved extraterrestrial. She’d always had papers and could “pass” as human, provided she didn’t crush someone’s hand like a bundle of toothpicks or send a blast of heat vision at the phone when its ringing surprised her. She just wishes _every_ person—human _and_ alien—could have U.S. citizenship if they needed it so that she wouldn’t have to deal with the controversy. But, overall at least, the act seemed to be a success: aliens could now apply for driver’s and marriage and business licenses, open bank accounts and save for retirement, vote on issues that mattered to them, receive in-state tuition and federal scholarships for college, and lobby for the protection of the courts to defend their newly gained civil rights. They now _had_ legally defined rights.

“Um,” Kara gulps. “Good, I guess? It’s good. People deserve to be safe.”

Lena nods, her expression neutral. “So you’ve heard of it, then. You follow current events?”

“Um, when I can, yeah.” Kara begins to pull at the threads of her sweater, anxious about discussing the lives and rights of aliens around the sister of Earth’s most notorious alien-hater.

“What time is it?” Lena says next. “There’s a clock on the wall behind me.”

Kara squints. “It’s like a quarter to 7. 6:46,” she replies. “You should get going soon. You like to be in the office by 7:15.”

Lena’s shoulders drop, a tension in her back easing. She lets her head hang for a moment before picking it up, glancing at the clock over her shoulder. “You’re right,” she says, looking back at Kara with a wary, guarded expression.

Kara furrows her brow, watching Lena finish her coffee and slide off the barstool gracefully. At Kara’s confused look, Lena shrugs.

“Kara, please. You have to imagine how it looks, for me,” she says. “Nobody else can see or hear the person I’m talking to. I can’t _prove_ you’re a ghost. I can’t _really_ determine that I’m not crazy. I mean,” she lets out a harsh laugh, “you’re not telling me to kill people yet, so I guess that’s a positive sign. Even if I am crazy.”

“You’re _not_ crazy, Lena,” Kara pleads. She doesn’t want her presence to make Lena doubt her sanity, but she also can’t stay away from the one person in the entire world who can see and hear her.

Lena regards her incredulously for a moment before rinsing out her mug. “You told me the correct time,” she admits with a resigned sigh, drying the mug and placing it back in the cabinet. “And I couldn’t see it myself. So. That’s a good sign.”

 Kara remains quiet, fiddling uncomfortably with her fingers while Lena moves around her, preparing to leave for the day. They were making progress, she supposes—Lena’s tests mean she’s preparing to make a space for Kara in her life, and that _has_ to be a good thing. Even if, despite her correct answer to the question, Kara somehow still feels like she’d failed.

* * *

Kara and Lena fall into a pattern shortly after that. Although Kara misses the ability to sleep—the ability to curl herself up in warm, soft blankets and slowly fall into a deep, satisfying sleep, letting her soul rest and her spirit recharge at the end of a stressful day—almost as much as she misses being able to eat, her insomnia comes with a notable benefit. Each morning, she'd quietly slip into Lena's room and wake her with the sunrise. Then they’d sit on Lena’s balcony while Lena savored a coffee (full-bodied and smooth, with a splash of almond milk) and scanned the news. Early mornings contain a lot of hope, as they balance on the precipice of the possibilities the day could bring; sweet pinks and brilliant yellows spilling over the tops of skyscrapers while Kara and Lena sit, and watch, and dream. The mornings were for optimism: maybe today would be the day they found Alex, or the day the news would be kinder to Lena, or the day a new invention would work. Lena’s cheeks would glow as she began to talk animatedly, her coffee half-drunk and forgotten, and Kara felt a tiny, welcomed breath of warmth from the yellow Sun that had imbued her with strength for nearly half her life.

Kara would leave to do a sweep of the L-Corp building while Lena got ready for work. Staying inside waiting while Lena got prepared for the day made Kara stir-crazy, so instead she would drift and look out for anything suspicious. The fact Lena was the victim of an assassination attempt—and that she was so nonchalant about it—worried her. Lena is Kara’s only connection to humanity, the only person that gave her the possibility of a future and maybe even a friend. If she were gone… Kara doesn’t want to think about that.

Assuming the building is clear—and it had been for nearly a month—Kara would meet Lena on her way out the door. She’d accompany her, on the ground this time, to work. Lena would wear a bluetooth so they could talk and no one would bat an eyelash. Once Lena had settled in her office for the day, Kara would circle the city, basking in the early autumn sunlight and listening to the sounds of people living their lives beneath her. Groups of gleeful children on a playground and restaurants opening for the day made her feel happy. Even the sounds of horns honking and dogs barking and police sirens made her feel at least a little alive.

Sometimes, rarely, Kara would hear a familiar voice: someone she’d shadowed before meeting Lena. She’d let herself fall slowly down from the sky like a lost feather, checking in on the people who’d grounded her for months. Asha is talking now, and her mother Chandra started dating a sweet, shy guy who enjoys carrying Asha around in an ergonomic baby carrier strapped to his chest. August had finally introduced himself to the woman he’d had a crush on for so long, and she crushed his heart when she told him she is engaged and not interested. Jenn is enjoying the National City sunshine and is settling into a routine. Ahmad is teaching dance and loving every second, spending his lunch breaks planning future classes. Kara’s delighted to see the ways their lives have progressed.

She’d continue to try to prevent crimes when she can, although her ability to affect people was still inconsistent. She avoided the CatCo building and her old apartment altogether; it hurt too much to go near.

Around dusk, Kara would head back to Lena’s condo. Lena had set the heaters and lights to go on automatically, so Kara could lie on her couch and bliss out in the tepid warmth until Lena made it home. If Lena hadn’t eaten, Kara would sit with her while she ate. Nighttime was a chance to unpack the day: there was no news of Alex, the tabloids were cruel, an invention was still nonfunctioning.

And lately, nighttime had become a chance for Kara to see the real Lena: face pink and scrubbed clean and soft, wearing dark, silk pajamas and worrying her bottom lip as she stressed about the day or about what the future would bring. Nighttime Lena was quiet and insecure. Nighttime Lena asked questions that Kara struggled to answer. Questions about being a ghost, about what it was like for a human to suddenly have unimaginable powers: flight, the ability to see through walls, superhearing. Kara didn’t have the heart—or the courage—to tell her that she’d gained nothing from her transformation, she’d only lost.

A warmth blooms in Kara’s chest as she comes to know Lena. For example: her favorite food is chocolate lava cake with fresh whipped cream, but the food she eats when she’s most stressed is crunchy sauerkraut and half a chopped honeycrisp apple. Her face gets all scrunchy and cute when she thinks she’s being funny. Her bad puns rival Kara’s. She _loves_ fresh flowers and orders huge shipments for her home and office every few days: succulent black dragon hibiscus, peachy amaryllis, vibrant orchids and angelic plumerias that remind Kara of her mom. Kara learns the names of all Lena’s flowers, and Lena begins to order more of Kara’s favorites.

More and more as the weeks go by, Kara wishes she were solid so that she could reach out to rub Lena’s shoulder when she was stressed, or play with her hair while they watch movies, or thumb the freckle on her neck while she re-reads her favorite book, _Matilda_ , waiting for Kara’s approval before she turns the page. Kara is a very physical person, although she’s never had a best friend besides Alex.

Kara also wishes she was solid so that she could protect Lena more. Kara _seethes_ when creepy men—and one charming older woman—overtly flirt with her at the various business functions they attend. Lena deserves better than that! She deserves someone who’s too flustered by her intelligence and beauty to be slick. She deserves someone who knows that Lena would rather eat in someone’s kitchen than go to an expensive restaurant, or go to a museum instead of a country club.

Kara, too, seethes when Lena cavalierly mentions her childhood: how her father, Lionel, would pit her against her brother Lex; how humiliated she was when she overheard a group of people she thought were her friends tell each other how they had to keep her around because she was a Luthor, even if she was really weird; or how her ex, Lucy, broke up with her via text only _after_ she’d left to join the military.

Lena, who is truly the kindest, most genuine person Kara’s met, deserves better than that. She deserves the world. So it’s no great sacrifice for Kara to watch all of Lena’s favorite movies with her, even if they make her cry— _Lilo and Stitch_ especially.

(“Are you _serious_? You haven’t seen it? What were you, raised in a covenant? It’s rated PG!”

“N-no! My, um, my adoptive parents didn’t want me watching sci-fi.”)

(“Are you _crying_?”

“...no.”

“Liar! Oh, shit. Kara, are you okay?!”)  

Truly, Kara would do anything for Lena. How could she not? Lena never, ever tells Kara she’s boring when she talks about something she’s passionate about. Lena reads books on space and astronomy so that she could talk to Kara about the shuttle launches she so eagerly follows. Lena listens exclusively to NSYNC and Britney Spears and Hilary Duff for a week so that she can sing along with Kara while she makes dinner in her pajamas and fuzzy socks. Lena makes the stars go away, eclipsing them with her brightness and adoration, so that Kara can finally relax.

It’s why, when Lena asks Kara only two weeks after coming to live with her if she plays chess, Kara answers that she doesn’t but that she’d love to learn. And oh, how that makes Lena’s smile _radiant_ in a way it only is for Kara. Kara doesn’t even hesitate, although she lies when Lena asks if she’s ever tried to learn before. She had, as a teenager, but it hadn’t ended well. Things were still too loud and the world was too fragile; Kara couldn’t focus on anything for more than fifteen minutes at a time and she’d forget all about the rules of the game when she kept _breaking_ the pieces between her fingers. The Danvers worked so hard at finding games to engage Kara with, ones that she could enjoy, especially when her English was only as good as hesitantly identifying colors and numbers to play UNO. Chess was too slow, too much to focus on when she last tried to learn it, but things were different now. Kara always liked to stretch her intellect; she _loves_ to catch people off guard when they assume she’s an airhead just because she likes to smile. 

And that’s another thing Kara likes so much about Lena. Even when she laughs at Kara’s terrible jokes or has to write out a guide of how the chess pieces move once Kara mixes up her first hurried explanation, she never— _never_ —takes Kara’s admittedly-bright personality for stupidity. She never takes her smiles for granted. Lena is never impatient or condescending when Kara can’t follow her initial excited rambling about a topic because she’d never bothered to learn English terminology for quantum physics. Lena just bites her lip and thinks of how to explain it differently because it matters to her that she can talk to Kara, once she realizes that Kara is overjoyed to learn about everything important to Lena, from business to sustainable agriculture and nanotechnology.

However, there were little things, little points of contention that make goosebumps break out along Kara’s arms. Lena is notoriously difficult to pin down when it comes to certain things. Important things. She was private and hated conflict, especially about opinions that would blow up in the news. She told Kara one cloudy morning that she didn’t like to be pigeon-holed and did not want to be held up as anyone’s idol or cast off as a villain. She wanted to do good in the world without being tied to an agenda, without needing to prove people right or wrong about her. She wanted to condemn her brother’s atrocities without needing to take a stance on the “alien agenda” that was moving from fringe websites to mainstream press as evidence of alien activity grew more apparent, spurred into frenzy by the signature of the president’s Amnesty Act. Lena would argue that wondering how the Earth was to take on alien refugees when they couldn’t effectively take care of human refugees makes her a pragmatist, not a xenophobe like her family.

And Lena’s biggest issue with aliens wasn’t even their existence, she argued, but rather the lengths they go to hide their true selves. She lambasted aliens who would pass as human rather than showing empathy for those who try to pull themselves from the shadows, to cling to their identities as spotlights shone down upon them. Who gave up _everything_ : their homes, their past lives and their identities. Cast it all away like a shameful snakeskin in order to make their lives better for themselves and their families.

“My fear,” Lena begins, one lazy afternoon while she's lounging on the couch and reading the news. “Is that we can't be certain of aliens’ _true_ intentions. Why they’re going to such lengths. I mean, the majority pretend to be human; that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. I just don't see how we can trust them.” 

“Wha-what?” Kara stutters, a sinking feeling lodging itself in her stomach and throat.

“Like, can you _imagine_?” Lena casts her tablet aside and sits up, wringing her hands together earnestly. “You meet someone great. Maybe—maybe even fall in love with them. You build a life together. And then you find out they’re _lying_ to you! About everything!”

“Maybe they had reasons?” Kara says in a small voice, her chest aching and her face suddenly hot. “To protect themselves and the ones they love? The world isn't kind to people who are different.”

“It’s _betrayal_ , Kara!” Lena looks incredulous. “It doesn’t matter why. They’re still lying. They’re deceiving the people they claim to love. It’s… it’s deceitful— _manipulative_...”

Kara stays silent, trying to keep herself from showing a reaction. Four people in the entire world had known who she really was. She'd had to keep her identity a secret from everyone else, and it had stopped her from being able to connect genuinely with others all throughout her time on Earth. How many friendships had she lost? How many relationships suffered? Opportunities missed? A-and Jeremiah, oh _Rao._

She’d never been able to identify the sick, burning feeling in her chest when she thought about how she'd never be _normal,_ no matter how hard she tried or how well she’d blended in. How she had to try _so_ hard to make it look effortless when she walked without cracking the floorboards or closed a door without crumpling the doorknob like wax. How _hard_ she'd worked to fit in, to high five her friends without crushing their bones or to hug her loved ones without snapping their spine. She’d felt so betrayed when Jeremiah wouldn't let her go on sleepovers—and later when Eliza told her she couldn't have biological children—like she was being punished for something she couldn't help.

“I just can’t imagine how they can live with themselves, lying to everyone,” Lena says, biting her lip with a faraway look in her pale eyes. It frightens Kara how quickly the warmth could leach from them, soft jade turning steely in a flash.

“They don't want to,” Kara whispers, allowing more emotion to slip into her voice than she would have preferred. “They want to be safe and loved. They deserve to be safe and loved. Not everyone needs to know their past to know them.”

“I disagree,” Lena says. “You can’t claim to love someone while hiding who you are from them. People have a right to know when others aren’t being honest about who they truly are! About who they are and where they come from! I _know_ this, Kara. Just look at me! You think I’ve never wanted to make up a new life for myself? I know it’s hard, but it’s _right_ , it’s honest.”

“It’s really not the s—”

“And besides! Shouldn’t they be _proud_ of who they are? It wouldn’t be a problem if they’d just come forward, show themselves. How are we supposed to embrace alien citizens when they don’t even embrace their own identities? When _they_ treat their identities like a shameful secret.”

“I’m—I'm gonna go do a sweep of your building. I think I heard—yeah,” Kara says, trying to keep her voice from wavering, trying to ignore the way her chest feels like it’s splitting open. She tugs herself off the couch and launches into the air, away from the condo, away from Lena's misguided judgement that managed to break open Kara's greatest struggles with deft words and a cutting tongue.

 It _hurt_ to have Lena speak so casually, so _indifferently_ , about Kara’s former life. She isn’t human—she never was, despite her efforts—but she still _feels_. When she was alive, Kara had been a dreamer. She’d ached and fantasized and wanted so much. One day, she told herself, she'd feel comfortable in her skin. She'd have a successful career helping people and shedding light on the truth similar to the journalists she most admired. She’d have a bunch of friends that adored her, who would tell her all about themselves and play silly board games with her and Alex. Maybe even a boyfriend, someone who could relate to her struggles while he made her feel _normal_ , someone who made her laugh, brought her food and rubbed her back when she was sad—someone to come home to at the end of the day. Her mom and sister wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore, because she’d be so effortlessly _human_ no one could doubt her. She would learn to ignore the guilt that barreled into her every time there was a crisis she didn’t attend to: sirens cutting through the air, news stories of fires or robberies, natural disasters and terrorist attacks made her feel _terrible._ But maybe one day it wouldn’t, because she’d accept that the country’s safety wasn’t her responsibility. In time, she would stop feeling like something was missing from her life because it would be whole and full of love and purpose. In time, her rare, unwanted dreams of being _more_ to the world would fade away and leave her in peace, would no longer wake her in the middle of the night to panic and call Alex because she needed so badly for someone to tell her she was _enough_. She had so much kindness and passion to give the world, and the fact that people—that _Lena_ —could only see malice where she’d tried to be the closest thing to herself _hurt_.

Lena couldn't understand! What it was like to be a _danger_! Jeremiah had _died_ because of her. It was _her_ fault that Alex didn't have a father and Eliza didn't have a husband. How many bones had she broken by accident? How many kisses had she pulled away from, terrified at losing control because of how good it felt? How many relationships had Alex and Eliza given up so that Kara could be safe? It isn't _fair_ for Lena, as someone who’s never had to question her right to exist, to judge aliens—to judge _her_ —for just wanting to be safe.

So why couldn’t Kara confront her? Lena isn’t hateful—Kara knows that. She’s misguided and wary, sure, but she isn’t her mom or brother. So why couldn’t Kara speak up? It’s so difficult to articulate a coherent opinion about the arrival of aliens to Earth. For someone who’d spent years denying her own existence and a vital part of her identity, the public’s sudden interest in alien rights is disquieting. And, something she would only admit in the lonely darkness of early morning, and certainly never to Lena, was that she was secretly jealous of the aliens who would have the opportunity to live _their_ lives openly while she still struggled to reconcile Kara Zor-El and Kara Danvers, and the fact that she had no future as either of them.

* * *

After a serene morning and uneventful day drifting above the city, Kara lazes around the condo and waits for Lena to return from work. As time’s gone on, and Kara and Lena have only grown closer, although the tension around aliens lingers. Whenever the subject comes up, Lena quickly grows obstinate and defensive, and Kara turns hesitant and inarticulate in her panic. It feels like there’s There’s no way to bridge something so deeply personal to the both of them. So they don’t talk about it and instead tiptoe their way through the growing minefield. But that night Lena comes home late and upset, obviously tense. She greets Kara politely, formal but short, and then takes off her shoes with more force than necessary. Her face is sour and pinched and her are eyes glassy.

“Lena?” Kara asks, reaching for her and pulling back before her fingers can slide through Lena’s shoulder.

“What?” Lena snaps, grinding her jaw. She clutches her heels in a white-knuckled hand and runs her other hand through her hair, frustrated.

“Are you… okay?” Kara winces. Lena is clearly not okay.

“Not really, no,” Lena laughs bitterly, sticking her chin out. 

“Do you, um… want to talk about it?”

Lena slams her shoes down on the table. The _thunk_ makes Kara jump.

“I’m just—” Lena begins, then cuts herself off to breathe out a long sigh, rubbing her face. She looks down at the makeup smeared on her hand and grimaces. She sighs again and shuffles into the bedroom, Kara trailing behind her. Lena scrubs off her makeup, pulls on a worn MIT sweatshirt and returns to the couch, looking slightly calmer, but still stormy.

“I’m just...” she says again, blinking rapidly and looking upward to prevent any tears from falling. She chuckles, and the brittle sound lodges itself in Kara’s chest. “You can’t trust a _Luthor,_ you know?”

She spits her last name like it’s a curse. Kara hums and slides closer to Lena. Gooseflesh trails along Lena’s skin, but she remains stoic, clenching her jaw so her lip won’t tremble.

“What happened, Lena?” Kara murmurs.

“My board took a vote,” Lena says, quiet and low. Without the sharp veneer of her makeup, she looks young and vulnerable. Kara’s heart aches as Lena looks at her with wide, sad eyes. “Without me. They’re trying to give more authority to the COO behind my back.”

“What?” Kara gasps. “Can they _do_ that?”

“They’re not _supposed_ to,” Lena says, bitter. “They want to move away from biotech and back into weapons manufacturing because they say that’s ‘where the money is’.” She waves her hand dismissively and then clenches it into an angry fist.

“And that’s… a bad thing?” Kara winces at herself again. How she wishes she could reach out and hold Lena’s trembling hand, provide her support with a touch that her words awkwardly fail to do.

“Well,” Lena’s eyes flash, “it is if you’re, you know, a 24-year-old CEO trying to move _away_ from the death-rampage legacy your evil older brother started.” Her voice is overly light, airy, and she digs her nails into her palms until there are white crescents pressed into her flesh.

“Hey, um, it’s okay,” Kara tries to soothe, grabbing for Lena’s hands. Even though she can’t actually touch her, she still smooths her hands over Lena’s until Lena relaxes and lets her hands fall limp into her lap. Kara smiles, and then a stray thought hits her: 24? Lena was _24_? Kara knew Lena was a genius and younger than she looked, but not _that_ young.

She puts the thought aside. “Your brother’s actions do not reflect your own,” Kara continues, bringing her hand up to hover over Lena’s shoulder. How often had Kara told herself the same thing, looking hard at herself in front of a mirror and trying to justify her mundane, civilian life while a news program about Kal-El—about _Clark_ —about _Superman_ —played out in the background. “You’re your own person, and the fact that you want your company to develop technology to make people's lives better—or even save them!—is really admirable.”

Lena twists her hands together. She inhales, holds it for a few moments, and exhales.

“Things are rocky,” Lena admits, finally. “The company— _Luthor_ Corp—flourished under Lex’s leadership, especially when he switched R &D to focus on defense tech. But then things went south, and they’ve stayed there—my taking over was supposed to make it better.”

“The fact L-Corp hasn’t been involved in any disasters in the past few months is better,” Kara reminds her. “Since you took over, L-Corp’s conscious has been clean. That means something. The bottom line is sure to follow.”

Lena’s laugh is watery. “I wish my investors saw it your way.”

“Well, they will. One day. One day _soon_ ,” Kara promises, sticking out her chest even though Lena can’t really see her. “It’s only been a few months, Lena. You can’t expect things to be magically better yet. You’ve got a reputation to rebuild.”

“I just wish the board would see how hard I’m working and stop trying to sabotage me,” Lena admits. “I know I’m young, but I’ve been sitting in on board meetings since I was a child! I graduated business school at _fourteen_ and had my masters at fifteen. I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, of course you do.”

“At least,” Lena confesses, her bravado falling away in a flash. “At least I think I do. I don’t—I don’t know if I’m making the right decisions. The tech my investors want to develop would almost certainly put the company back in the black, but I _promised_ myself I wouldn’t let our name or our inventions be used for evil again.”

Kara nods along with her as she speaks. “Go with your gut, Lena. Why do you think your board is doing this?”

Lena curls her fingers together. “I think—no, I know—that they want financial security. But they’re missing the long-term implications. They’re not concerned with _stability_.”

Lena’s voice grows with confidence and volume as she continues, gesturing with her hands and furrowing her brow in concentration. Something thrums in Kara’s chest while she watches Lena speak so animatedly about the company she is passionate about. “We need to move away from defense tech _now_ so that we can start to diversify our assets. Make a name for ourselves in other fields. Broader markets mean we get more customer support and a larger consumer base. It means we won’t take as big a hit if something bad happens. It’s just… medical devices and clean energy innovations aren’t exactly as sexy as big guns or shiny drones.”

Kara laughs. “And what can you do to help them see the light?” 

Lena’s eyes flash as the ideas flood her mind. “Well. I can try sitting down with some of my more supportive members and working out a strategic plan for winning over the others. Pin down some of the concepts that have been floating around in my head, draft out solid proposals, tell them about my future vision for L-Corp. And, maybe, if I have alternate directions to go in… be a river, not a dam for their energy.”

“That sounds good,” Kara agrees. “What else?”

“ _Well_ ,” Lena says. “There is some military-related technology I’ve been looking into. Not _weaponry_ , I mean, but. Well... virtual reality as a form of PTSD treatment for ex-soldiers. A drone system for delivering supplies to refugees. Weapons systems that neutralize and destroy artillery threats without causing them to blow up elsewhere. An algorithm to detect and expose self-radicalization on the Internet.”

“That’s cool!” Kara gushes, excited to hear more about Lena’s more recent projects. “Those are all great ideas. Have you told anyone about them?”

“No, not yet,” Lena grins bashfully. “They’re in the real early stages of planning right now, and I’ve been hesitant to bring much up—most of our board meetings are spent mitigating damage and trying to mediate between the old guard, Lex’s people, and the newer members.” She sighs, her grin turning wry. “I wish it wasn’t so difficult.”

“You’re trying not to fall off the glass cliff,” Kara reminds her. “You’re a strong, capable woman taking over a company in crisis. People who couldn’t do half of what you do everyday will judge you, but at the end of the day you’re doing what’s right by yourself, your company and your family. That’s what’s important.”

Lena sniffles and scrubs at her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “What if I can’t make it work, Kara? Being the CEO. What if I’m leading my company in the wrong direction?”

“Then you’ll catch it before it gets too bad,” Kara says. Her fingers twitch to touch Lena, to rub her shoulder or knee, to ground her while she speaks. “You’re too careful and smart and _good_ to not notice what’s going wrong and try to fix it.”

Lena looks at Kara with shiny, hopeful eyes. 

“I believe in you,” Kara adds, drawing upon the encouragement she wishes Cat Grant would have given her after a long day in the office. “The work you’re doing is important. You can’t give up now.”

Lena says nothing, just turns her head more fully and gazes over at Kara like she really is the guardian angel she’d joked about so long ago. Her mouth is open, lips red and soft. Kara is sitting close enough that she can see Lena’s pulse twitching at her temples. A sudden urge to press a kiss to the downy hairs falling just in front of her ear overtakes Kara; she brushes her lips against Lena’s forehead, her lips passing slightly into Lena’s skin, and while Lena shivers at the undoubtedly odd sensation, she looks pleased.

“Thank you, Kara,” Lena breathes, her cheeks pink. “I’ve, uh, I’ve never had someone to… you’re the first person… I appreciate you. A lot. Thanks for, um, listening to me ramble on about L-Corp—anyone else would have run screaming by now.” She pauses to laugh weakly at her joke. “But you listen and you _care_ and I feel—sorry, I’m not very good at this.”

Lena breathes out a laugh once again, self-conscious, and hides her face in her hands, her cheeks and forehead glowing red behind her fingers. Kara smiles and rubs her hand through Lena’s back, aching to be solid enough to actually touch her. For the first time since waking up, freezing cold in the bottom of the bay, she feels almost warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! I love getting comments here and asks on tumblr, where I'm @burnslikeabluedream.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta Alex deserves all the awards because she stayed up late last night _while in the process of moving to a different state_ so that this chapter would be ready today. She's, um, pretty spectacular.

One evening a few days later, Lena comes home late. Or rather, later than normal, which is already what Kara would consider late. Tendrils poke out here and there from her usually-immaculate hair, and her once-pressed blazer is rumpled. Her eyes shine with a fire Kara’s never seen before, and it causes something to churn uncomfortably in her stomach. Even though Lena’s adopted, there’s a brightness on her face and a tilt to her grin that reminds Kara so much of Lena’s older brother, Lex—a particular expression she remembers seeing when he would announce incredible new technological releases with a flourish and a beaming smile. It was an image that had been burned into her mind ever since one late night not too long ago, when Lena had pulled up the video of the 2012 Luthor Corp Launch Event on Youtube to show Kara. She had sat carefully, curled around a salmon bowl with quinoa and roasted vegetables, with a bittersweet smile on her face as she occasionally added her own commentary. “We worked on this one together,” she’d said. “He told me he wanted to build a solar battery that could charge in minutes and last for days. He never quite figured it out...”

Lena’s expression, so eerily similar to Lex’s although Kara knows they aren’t biologically related, is one of someone ambitious and victorious, someone who’s taking the first steps of a great scheme that only they know the endgame to. Lex’s endgame had been a genocide. And Lena’s? Kara doesn’t know. She _wants_ to trust Lena, but it—it’s unnerving to see that same grin on Lena’s face, even as she’s bouncing on her toes and chewing on her bottom lip in unbridled excitement.

“Kara!” Lena exclaims, interrupting Kara from her spiraling thoughts. It’s been harder, lately, to keep them from drifting the same way they had when she’d been a scared, lost child new to the Earth, to keep her from disconnecting with nothing solid to ground her. But Lena is a welcome distraction as she sets down her bags, already unbuttoning her top as she walks to the bedroom. Kara trails her, head cocked in curiosity, as Lena unselfconsciously strips her shirt off while she heads towards the closet, throwing it in her direction. Instinctively, Kara reaches out to catch it. The shirt slides through her fingers and lands on the floor with a _thump_. “You’ll never guess what happened today!”

Lena briefly turns to _beam_ at Kara before moving to take off her skirt. Kara bites back a gasp, her thoughts brought to a sudden halt and her brain short-circuiting because Lena looks _soft_ and _warm_ and _happy_ and her bra is green and black and _lace_ and—and… oh, Rao—

“We got the clearance!” Lena nearly trips as she balances on one leg, leaning against the doorway to her enormous closet as she struggles to pull her foot free. Finally free of her skirt, Lena all-but prances into her closet, and Kara tries not to stare or melt through the floor. Because she could. Melt through the floor. Literally. It’s just, Lena just looks so _nice_. She continues speaking, gesturing wildly with her free hand even as she selects a pair of pajamas, completely unaware of Kara’s rapidly-derailing train of thought.

“It took _forever_ ,” Lena says, pulling on a pair of lavender-colored sleep shorts. She shrugs on the matching shirt, which hangs loose around her chest and shoulders. “But L-Corp will have its name officially changed on Monday! We can celebrate together tomorrow. We can… we can break a bottle on the side of the building! And the press conference will be in the park nearby on Monday while we unveil the new logo— _apparently_ calling the City Council every day really helped expedite the process—”

“Wait,” Kara interrupts Lena, who for her part seems as if she could go talking indefinitely. Kara closes her eyes and holds up her hand, her head spinning. “Breaking a bottle? Isn’t that for, like, boats?”

“Yes, well,” Lena shrugs and crosses her arm, leaning forward with a grin. Her nose scrunches cutely as she bounces slightly on her feet, full of energy. “Doesn’t it just seem like fun?”

“I guess?” Kara shrugs, grinning back. Lena’s enthusiasm is infectious.

“Come on! We can do something _else_ , I guess, but we need to do _something_! We—we need to celebrate! Follow me.” Lena steps around Kara, and Kara swears she can feel heat spread to her neck and chest just from Lena’s shoulder slightly passing through her own.

She floats just behind Lena all the way into the kitchen, where Lena begins to dig through the freezer. “C’mon, I know I have it! Look!” She holds a single frozen cupcake aloft triumphantly. “See, Kara, I _do_ eat sweets. Now we just gotta let this baby defrost.”

With a laugh, Kara hovers near the kitchen cabinet and watches Lena prancing around the kitchen and living room, suddenly finding all sorts of small tasks that need to be done. She’s filled with the awkward enthusiasm and energy of someone with no idea how to actually celebrate anything, and Kara is positively charmed. She tries to use her heat vision to warm her hand and defrost the cupcake more quickly, but it just makes her eyes itch. Oh, how she misses that. Heating up food. And food, in general. The cupcake is particularly tempting, even if it's dark chocolate.

After Lena’s finished setting up a nest of blankets on the couch, she bounds back over to Kara. “I’m just so excited!” She pants, frowning at her still-frozen cupcake. She puts it in the microwave for a few seconds, and Kara winces at the thought of melted icing.

“You’ll come, right?” Lena asks, her voice suddenly quiet and shy over the hum of the microwave. “To the naming? I’d... really like to have you there.”

Kara chuckles softly, flattered that Lena wants her to be present for an important moment of her life. “Of course, Lena. I’ll be there. I—I wouldn’t miss it.” And it’s true. Nothing makes her happier than the thought of Lena, in control and in her element, standing on stage while she turns her vision for L-Corp into a reality. Of _course_ Kara wants to be part of that.

“Good.” Lena takes her cupcake out of the microwave and finds it mercifully un-melted. She pours herself a flute of $700-a-bottle champagne, places the cupcake on the center of a plate that Kara suspects was way too expensive for a plain, square piece of white ceramic, and carries them both to the couch. Kara trails behind her and settles in, watching as Lena methodically pulls the cupcake apart with her fingers and talks so fast that her words trip over themselves.

It’s moments like these, where Lena is effervescent and animated, where the wheels of her brain turn at record speeds, that Kara feels adoration burn hot in her chest.

 _Oh, Rao,_ she thinks, _if only things were different_ … But the stars outside still call her, just as they do each night, taunting her with the voices of her parents—her father’s gentle encouragement and her mother’s lullabies. She’ll find Alex soon, and  they’re figure out where Krypton was together. And then she can go home, where she could finally— _finally_ —hug her family again and feel whole, her celestial journey complete. Maybe in another lifetime...

* * *

Lena buzzes with energy for the following week as she coordinates the press conference, working with publicists to contact the media and prepare her statement. She returns home later at night and sleeps more fitfully, and Kara worries about the dark rings forming under her eyes, even despite her optimistic smile.

“I just want it to go well, you know?” Lena frets from her closet the morning of the ceremony. She’s changing, and Kara keeps her eyes cast politely downward—Lena might have no qualms about changing in front of her, but it still flusters Kara for reasons she can’t quite articulate.

“Mmhmm, I know!” Kara shuffles her foot through the floor.  

“It’s like, this is the moment where everything changes,” Lena continues, finally stepping out of the closet after vetoing her own wardrobe selections from the night before. She sits down at her desk and pulls out primer and an eyeshadow palette. “From here on, I’m the CEO of _L_ -Corp. Lex’s tyrannical reign is officially over, and I get to move forward. We all get to move forward. Oh! Speaking of! Did I tell you about the new epinephrine auto-injector that we’re releasing next week with double the shelf life at a quarter of the cost of what’s currently on the market?”

Kara chuckles and pretends to consider. “Hm, you did, actually. A couple of times, I think.” She keeps her voice teasing but not unkind.

Lena sticks her tongue out at Kara’s direction, then turns back to face the mirrors. “I—I’m just excited! And nervous. This is nothing like giving a Ted Talk. I can’t wait for today to be over so we can come back and relax. What movie do you want to see?”

Their conversation lulls as Lena continues getting ready. Her hand is steady and her touch is delicate as she applies a rich purple-brown to the crease of her eye, and then brushes a bold red across her lips. She wipes a smudge away from the corner of her mouth, smacks her lips, raises her eyebrow, and then turns to grin nervously at Kara. “Well, ready?”  

Kara nods, and they set off for the park together, walking close enough together that Kara’s arm occasionally passes through Lena’s. It’s all Kara can think about during their walk, but if Lena notices she chooses not to comment on it. Lena’s silent as they travel, intermittently reviewing notes for her speech on her tablet even though Kara knows for a fact she’s had the whole thing memorized for days and taking deep, measured breaths. Once at the park, they stride towards the L-Corp plaque where a clear plastic podium on a stage has been set up, flanked by security guards.

Kara scans the park, taking in the open configuration. It’s a nice space, well-manicured and bright in the brisk autumn air. She’s familiar with the park, of course, having cut through it during her fly-bys of the city or while shadowing Lena to work, but she’s never hesitated long enough to take it all in.

The crowd in front of the L-Corp plaque is tiny: a few scattered journalists and some businesspeople who seem to have been caught off guard during their morning commute. Lena deflates for just a second before she catches herself, looking over the small crowd.

“My brother is serving 32 consecutive life sentences,” she whispers, concealing her frown with a wry half-shrug. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised there isn’t a bigger turnout.”

“This is just the first event,” Kara assures her. “There will be others, ones—ones where everyone is fighting to get close enough to see you because you’re about to unveil some life changing technology and—”

“You flatter me,” Lena dismisses, but she flashes Kara a shy smile anyway. She slows as they near the stage, tilting her head subtly in Kara’s direction. “Thank you for being here, Kara. Your optimism settles my nerves.” She takes a deep breath as if to steady herself and pulls the bluetooth from her ear, preparing.

“Wouldn’t have missed it!” Kara blurts out, smiling lopsidedly as Lena takes the stage.

She launches into the speech without a moment’s hesitation, not even taking the time to adjust the microphone or take a steadying breath.

“I want to thank you all for coming,” Lena begins. She smiles warmly out over the crowd. Her back is ramrod straight, and her words are articulated and crisp. She looks polished and professional—nothing like the nervous young woman Kara had been with only moments before. Her opening statement is quick and straightforward, more an appeal to the press than anything of substance. Kara's heard the whole thing anyway, in each iteration since Lena had begun drafting it. She recited it to her at least three or four times the previous night before they went to bed, and then once again in the morning while she'd gotten ready. Kara half-listens to the speech as she wanders around the crowd to peek over at what the reporters have written down. Even though Lena would never explicitly ask her to spy, Kara knows she’ll want to know what people’s initial reactions were before the news goes to print. And, well... she finds it fascinating, watching reporters scribble down notes or live-tweet the action, creating the next day's news while Kara watches over their shoulder. She takes a brief moment for herself to stand among them, letting herself think of _what if_ s and biting back a wavering, bittersweet smile even as she leaves a trail of unsettled feelings and confused glances in her wake.

It is then that she spies a blond man with an undercut in an official NCPD uniform. But unlike the other police officers present, who are standing at attention and facing the crowd, this man is off to the side, half hidden behind the stage’s backdrop and staring straight at Lena with a grim expression. His fingers are poised over the button of sleek, black remote the size of a flash drive. All at once, Kara is overcome by a wave of fear, a thick sinking feeling deep in her gut.

“Lena!” Kara screams, zooming up above the crowd and over to the podium. “Lena, look out!" 

“...together we will trod a brighter future,” Lena finishes, smiling brightly at the scattered applause. Her smile deepens, turning genuine as she breathes a subtle sigh of relief at the show of support, however small, she’s receiving.

But Kara ignores the applause. She calls out Lena’s name again, waving her arms desperately to catch her attention. Her pulse rushes in her ears and her hands are numb with fear. Something bad is about to happen, she knows it. Lena needs to move!

Lena finally catches sight of Kara’s frantic waving and frowns, her face growing pale as she takes in what Kara is screaming. With a quick, awkward movement, she pivots sharply on the stage and jumps over the edge, crying out as her ankle hits the cement at a bad angle. She stumbles and Kara swoops down to try to catch her, to guide her away, but her hands slide through Lena’s shoulders uselessly.

“You need to go!” She cries, trying to tug Lena away from the concerned crowd. “You need to get out of here!”

She’s vaguely aware of her ramblings as she continues to try to get Lena to _move_ , but then, all at once, she can’t hear anything. Can’t hear anything over the sound of twin explosions filling the air on the stage in front of the L-Corp plaque, not even fifteen feet away from them, loud and harsh and _terrifying_.

There’s stunned silence for a moment before the screaming starts. Kara covers her mouth with her hands, frozen in place despite the loud ringing rattling in her ears, shell-shocked and nauseous as the thick, acrid smoke fills the area. Lena begins to cough, hiding her face in her sleeve and clinging to a lamppost.

The smoke clears, revealing that the pedestal where Lena had been standing, smiling and hopeful only moments ago, is gone. Cleaved into jagged pieces and burned from what was likely a smaller explosive planted before the event. The thought of Lena having been there, directly above the explosion, makes Kara feel sick. She—she just needs to… Lena could have—Kara _needs_ to _feel_ her—

“Lena!” she shrieks, desperately trying to grab her friend, to touch her and feel the tangible evidence of Lena’s safety beneath her fingertips, to steady her, but her shaking hands slide through Lena’s skin like water. Lena curses breathlessly, waving her hand vaguely at Kara in an attempt to shoo her away. People among the crowd scream around them as another set of explosions go off, shattering the lower windows of the L-Corp building above them. The smoke continues to drift in the air, stirred into a frenzy by the wind, and a fire from the first explosion has begun to spread from the stage. It's hot enough that Kara can feel it flickering against her as she scrambles to check in with Lena, plunging her icy hands deep into Lena’s arms and chest in her panic, trying desperately to hold on to her and prove—and _feel_ —that she’s okay.

“Lena, are you okay?” Kara cries. Lena gazes up at her, eyes wide and unfocused, a line of blood dripping down her forehead from a small cut. The disguised police officer from earlier approaches them, his hand around a gun in its holster.

“Oh, officer, thank God...” Lena mumbles, steadying herself on her feet and lurching towards him. He draws out his gun, and Kara feels herself panic, feels herself spring into action. Instinctively, more than anything else, she throws herself in front of Lena, arms spread and chest out as she faced the assailant.

“Lena, _run_!” Kara cries out, desperate and terrified and so infuriatingly _helpless_. She plants her feet and holds her ground, though she isn’t any more solid than the air around them. In life, she’d been bulletproof, but she’d never needed to _test_ it. And now—now she’s _useless_.

Two gunshots cut through her, sharp and crisp, and Kara squeezes her eyes shut, biting her lip hard and dropping her trembling arms to her sides.

Lena _._ Kara’s thoughts race. _Lena._ Rao, her friend, her lifeline, her only company and her only hope to ever see her sister again and be able to return home. _Her_ Lena, sweet and sensitive and _funny_ , incredibly talented at chess but horrible at cards, with utterly _terrible_ taste in music, who sang unselfconsciously in the shower, who ate with her fingers and doodled mustaches on pictures of her board members while they talked down to her. Lena, thoughtlessly generous to waitstaff and eager students and intentionally rude to stuck-up socialites. Lena, who was everything good and kind in the world, who Kara had come to care for so much. Who knew her better than anyone else on Earth aside from Alex. Who Kara _loved_. Images of Lena’s body, crumpled and dirty and _dead_ , blood seeping through her clothes and pooling on the ground flash behind Kara’s eyes and leave a lump in her throat, and she trembles in place, her knees weak beneath her weightless body.

Except—

Kara’s brain plays catch-up to her panic and her instincts: the gunshots had come from _behind_ her, hadn’t they? From Lena. Not from the gunman who, when Kara cracks open her eyes, has collapsed on the ground with two spreading red patches staining his shirt. Kara flips around and stares in a daze as Lena clutches a gun she must have kept hidden in her jacket in both hands. Her face is grim as she stares down at the gunman, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips downturned. Her eyes are bloodshot and glassy, though Kara can’t tell if it’s from fear or anger.

But it doesn’t matter. None of that matters. “Lena!” Kara cries with a shaky voice, launching herself towards her friend and falling half-through her with the attempted hug. “Lena, dear Rao, I thought I’d lost you. I _can’t_ lose you.”

Rao’s name falls from her lips without a second thought in her relief to see Lena relatively unscathed. Lena doesn’t seem to notice, standing frozen and pointing her gun towards the limp figure before her as if at any moment he would spring back up and rush at her.

“Lena!” Kara tries again to touch her, bringing her hands up to Lena’s cheeks, her fingers dipping into Lena’s face with her nerves, but Lena flinches away. Without a second look in Kara’s direction, Lena limps over to her head of security. He’s on his phone, describing the explosion and the current state of the crowd and stage in a terse voice while he directs a group of shell-shocked witnesses with broad strokes of his hand. Kara hears sirens in the distance.

“O-okay,” Kara blubbers, overwhelmed tears of relief and fear and anger and confusion trailing down her cheeks. They catch on her chin and slide down her neck, making it sticky. “Okay, I’ll just—” _Help out,_ Kara means to say, but she chokes on the words. Because she’s crying, sobbing, her chest heaving as she follows behind Lena, her eyes darting around frantically, looking for other assailants or someone to help. But she’s powerless, completely powerless, her fingers closing on empty air as she tries to pull Lena toward her, tries to hold her close.

“Kara,” Lena hisses. “Go home. You’re not helping.”

“Lena,” Kara gasps. “I th-thought you were—” Shot. Dead. Lost forever.

“Yes, I know,” Lena snaps, barely looking in Kara’s direction. Her eyes search the crowd for the real police officers, scrambling around and trying to get the the remainder of the crowd out of the park and away from the smoke and fire.

“Kara, please go home,” Lena says again, quiet but firm. “I’ll see you in a few hours. I can’t deal with your panic right now.”

Kara hesitates, unwilling to let Lena go. She should stay and help. She _wants_ to help. But after a sharp stare she finally gives in. She’s _useless_. With one last, desperate brush of her fingers against Lena’s cheek, Kara turns with a choked sob and launches herself into the sky.

Lena’s condo is cold and dark when she arrives—the lights and heat won’t turn on for several more hours—and, most importantly, it’s _empty_. Kara frets, twisting her sweater and crinkling her face while she waits and waits for Lena to come home. She can’t even turn on the TV to watch the news coverage of the explosions, and she’s afraid to leave Lena’s condo to find a place she can watch the news just in case Lena comes home.

 _Useless_ , she thinks. _Helpless. Worthless._ If only she’d been more careful, had looked at the podium, had noticed the bombs. It was her job to protect Lena and she’d let her down and—

Kara sobs like she hasn’t in weeks. She punches through walls she can’t touch and screams about how _scared_ she was and how _unfair_ it is. Why, Rao, should she survive only to see her loved ones die, again and again? Why couldn’t she help? All she’d _ever_ wanted was to help, and she’d frozen up in her panic. Why couldn’t she _die_? All she wants is… she just wants to go home, to be at peace without needing to worry about her loved ones anymore. 

The fact Lena is now one of her loved ones doesn’t even register through her grief.

* * *

Lena arrives home well after dark. Kara wipes away the tears from her cheeks when she hears the jingle of Lena’s keys just outside the condo. She rushes over to Lena the moment she hobbles through the door and tries to touch her, to feel her solid and safe beneath her impalpable fingertips.

“Stop that,” Lena says, swatting the air around her. “You’re cold and creepy.”

Kara’s hands fall to her sides, dejected. “I… almost lost you,” she says, voice low and wavering.

Lena grinds her teeth, focusing intently on the floor as she kicks off her shoes. “I know.”

“You almost _died_.”

“Thank you for reminding me.” Lena throws her bag down and marches to her room, reeking of smoke and sweat. Kara tries to follow, but Lena slams the door in her face. Literally in her face; she’d been so close that the door phases through her before she can move, although Lena’s glare has her quickly stepping back out of the room regardless, feeling guilty as if it had been her fault. Kara lingers by the door in the hope that Lena will come out again or invite her in. She just… she _needs_ to see Lena again. And so she waits, her stomach twisting nervously and her eyes prickling with tears. She fidgets with the hem of her shirt and bites her bottom lip as more time passes. She truly doesn’t want to pry—she respects Lena’s privacy too much—but she can’t help but listen in, desperate to hear the sound of Lena’s heartbeat. She lets it wash over her in relief. Lena is okay. She’s alive and in one piece, pressed close to the opposite side of the door.

Finally, Kara hears Lena pad over to the bathroom, her bare feet sticking to the tile floor. She turns the sink’s tap on, and the rush of water somewhat masks the other sounds of the room from Kara’s hearing. But only somewhat. She can still make out Lena’s heartbeat— which, although it had been quick even earlier, now hitches and begins to beat erratically. Kara jerks up, alert and ready to phase through her door, when she hears Lena start to sob. _Oh_. The sound is muffled, like Lena’s covering her mouth, trying to keep herself from breaking apart, trying to keep herself from being heard.

But Kara _can_ hear her, and she’s sick with worry. She continues twisting the edges of her sweater until—finally, _finally_ —Lena opens the door to her bedroom, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks blotchy. She sniffles and silently gestures for Kara to enter, and Kara all-but rushes into the room behind her. Lena stands by her vanity, clutching the back of the chair in a white-knuckled hand. She’s stretched taut, like a bowstring, every muscle so tight Kara can see them straining in her neck, jaw and arms. Her other hand is clenched stiffly by her side.

Kara hovers awkwardly in front of Lena, aching to touch her, but the earlier admonishment of ‘cold and creepy’ keeps her from trying. Instead, she wipes at some of her own stray tears that have spilled down her cheeks, cool along the sides of her face. Kara looks Lena over for injuries, finally given the chance to take Lena in without panic clouding her judgement. There’s a crimson cut on her forehead and dark, haggard shadows under her eyes.

“I was scared,” Kara admits.

“Me too,” Lena whispers, trembling slightly and refusing to look at Kara. Instead, she stares at a spot on the floor where she’d spilled nail polish last week, tracing over the barely-there stain with her eyes.

Kara’s hands flex at her sides; she wants so badly to reach out to grab Lena and pull her close. To hold her hand, to brush the hair away from where it’s fallen in front of her face, to draw Lena into her arms. She—she wishes she could hug Lena for real. She wishes Lena would _want_ Kara to hug her for real.

“It’s just,” Lena begins before cutting herself off with a drawn-out sigh. “It feels like the universe is telling me to give up,” she admits, her eyes lowering with the confession.

“No!” Kara argues automatically. “You _can’t_ , Lena.”

“And why not?” Lena laughs bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. She glares up at Kara, her eyes burning with pain and anger. “I’ll never be anything more than a _Luthor_ , and not even a real one at that. No one will ever believe that I’m trying to do the right thing. And—and even if they do, even if I can find ten or fifteen people in the entire city are willing to hear me out, my brother has to go and send his _minions_ after me and ruin it all.”

“Lena, no,” Kara gasps, reaching out to hold her hands. They slide right through, and Lena pulls back, unnerved, her face still hard.

“Lena,” Kara repeats, her voice soft. “You _can’t_ give up, because there’s so much good in the world you have left to do. You’re going to do such great things—you’re _already_ doing such great things—and you’ve only just started.”

Lena doesn’t move, her jaw visibly tense.

“Your brother’s just threatened by how good you are,” Kara says. She crouches down so she can meet Lena’s lowered eyes. “You’re kind, you’re generous, and you’re so, so brave for standing up to your board and the press and even your brother. People telling you ‘no, you can’t do it’ just makes you work harder. And… and do you think that L-Corp solar panels would be on the White House roof if you’d given up? Do you think there would there be _no_ cases of Malaria in Nicaragua after the earthquake if you hadn’t invented that water purification straw and distributed it freely? Would all those children across National City have advanced prosthetics that can catch balls and write if you hadn’t figured out a way to manufacture them cheaply and quickly? I—I mean, even if it feels hopeless right now, you’re too good to stop trying. You’re the best person I know, Lena. I _mean_ it. You inspire. And you give a lot of people hope. That’s… that’s what you do for me.”

Lena’s lower lip trembles. Her eyes search Kara’s, flickering back and forth in the low light like a candle flame.

Kara leans forward to brush her lips against Lena’s forehead, leaving a cold imprint that makes Lena shudder and smile at the same time.

“I just—why does it have to be so hard?” Lena asks, her eyes welling with tears. She’s too composed to let them fall, blinking them away as they form, but her eyes water just the same. Kara aches to brush her thumbs against Lena’s cheeks, to let her cry and be taken care of. “You can see it too, right? That I’m cursed? That everyone would be better off if I just… stopped trying? Everything that I try to do—it just ends up ruined.”

“I don’t believe that at all,” Kara murmurs. She slides her fingers through Lena’s arm until she moves, using the eerie chill of her touch to repel Lena towards her bed. Finally, Lena obliges, pulling a pillow to chest and tucking her head against it. She stares up at Kara and oh, her face is so sad and guilty that Kara wants to break.

“Someone might die,” Lena admits, clutching the pillow tighter and screwing up her eyes. “Today. There was a young woman, just passing through the park. She wasn’t even there for _me_! She was hurt—badly burned in the explosions. The doctors had to put her into a coma.”

Kara jolts. She hadn’t… she hadn’t even _noticed_ that someone had been injured earlier that day. She’d been so focused on Lena that she’d just—she’d let the rest of the world fade away. The thought was jarring, so at-odds with the warm, content feeling she’d get in her chest when she’d been able to successfully prevent petty crimes while Lena was away at work. She hadn’t even _noticed_...

Lena continues, unaware of Kara’s racing thoughts, “I… I already paid for her hospital stay and rehabilitation, of course. And I left her some flowers. But—but it’s just a fucking _pittance_ , you know? Someone got _hurt_ today. Badly. Because of me. I don’t know how to _live_ with myself now, Kara. How can I? How can I pretend like everything's _okay_ when it’s _not_?”

Lena’s face crumples although she bites back her sob, sniffling thickly and curling around herself while Kara hovers awkwardly beside her. She lies completely still and Kara realizes she’s holding her breath.

“O-oh, honey,” Kara says, sitting beside her. It’s difficult to speak because her voice is so choked with emotion, mirroring Lena’s pain. Kara moves to rub Lena’s back but pulls back, not wanting to startle her. The pet name is startling enough—Lena is skittish around affection, like a stray cat in a thunderstorm. “I’m so sorry.”

Lena looks at Kara expectantly, worrying her bottom lip.

“But you can’t let that bring you down! It’s like... bad things happen, and good things happen, you know?” Kara continues. She lets her hand settle, ice-cold and unnerving, against Lena’s thigh. It’s too hard to continue to struggle not to touch her, too hard to try to comfort her with words alone. “And things that mean nothing at all, too. The universe is random, Lena. And, sometimes, trying to understand the reason _why_ the bad things happen is…” Kara stops, swallows thickly, and continues. “It doesn’t help. And… and, anyway, those people after you—they’re missing the point. In the end, the most important thing is your legacy. And _your_ legacy is one of kindness and goodness. I promise.”

“Really?” Lena exhales finally, sliding closer to Kara even as goosebumps spread down her leg.

“Really,” Kara says, stressing the word so Lena knows she means it.

Lena leans back on the bed, and Kara follows, hovering next to her. She watches the freckle on Lena’s neck dip when she swallows and wishes she could touch it.

“You saved me today,” Lena finally says, turning to stare up at Kara with soft, misty eyes. They’re close enough that Kara can see each of her eyelashes, crosshatched together and framing her eyes. “ _Thank you_ , Kara _._ ”

Kara stiffens. “Wha—me? No, no, I didn’t—I was so _usel—_ ”

“If I hadn’t heard you yelling, I wouldn’t have jumped,” Lena shakes her head. She pauses to look back at Kara, her smile open and truthful. “That’s the _second_ time you’ve saved me, Kara. You’re incredible. I… I know I was joking, earlier. About having a guardian angel in National City, that is. But, well… sometimes that’s how it feels. I—I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

Kara curls up into herself, hot all over. “It’s not—” she sputters. “It’s not about—I’m _not_ —I’m just glad you’re—uh, how’s your ankle?”

Lena rolls it and winces. “Twisted, for sure. But I’ll take it over the alternative any day.”

“Good.” Kara shudders at the thought.

The silence stretches between them, as Kara tries to avoid the curious glances Lena sends her way. Finally, Lena turns back onto her back to blink up at the ceiling and blurts out, “I didn’t know you believed in creative symbolic immortality.” She clenches her fists, adrenaline still keeping her rigid even though she’s safe at home now.

Kara frowns. “I’m… not? What?”

“The idea that your legacy is what matters the most,” Lena explains. “With what you said before. About the universe being random.”  

“Oh! Um, well, it’s just—I’ve lost everything,” Kara says with an instinctive, unconscious shiver at the memory. Her planet, her toys, her clothes, her friends, her family, and then her new friends, her job, her apartment, her second family—her future three times over, her body, _her sister_. She takes a shuddering breath. “But, um, I had to keep going; I had to make my pla-people- _parents_ proud. They were such incredible people, and I’m all that’s left. O-or I _was_.”

Kara’s voice cracks. Her memories of Krypton, lost. Dead. All of the people she knew: her parents, her aunts and uncles, her teachers and her friends and the employees in her building and the actors and actresses she used to watch on her hologram, passing away from a life stored in memories to obscurity, because there was no one left to remember them. As if they never existed. Their lives and deaths rendered meaningless because there was no one left to remember who they were.

Kara slows her breathing, tilting her head back so her tears don’t fall. She’s cried enough for Krypton already. “I’m the only one who remembers their names. Their smiles. Their kindness.”

Lena’s eyes are misty. “Maybe, well… maybe you could tell me about them, sometime?”

Kara shrugs noncommittally. “Yeah, maybe.”

If Lena notices the obvious deflection, she thankfully chooses not to comment on it. “So, you’re holding on so that you can give your sister closure,” she says, her voice soft and reverent. “Is that how you’ve kept going, these past months? Because you know what it's like to lose your family?”

“Yes,” Kara admits, although her logic was two-fold. She also needs Alex's help to find the source of the voices—her parents' voices—that call her every night from the stars. “Actually, I-I first lost everything as a child. I was thirteen when my parents died, when I lost _everything._ My family and my home and my life. And I was thrust into a world that was cruel and disconcerting. Everything reminded me of what I’d lost, while at the same time I was—it was like I was on a new world where everything was foreign.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lena gasps. “I had no idea.”

“I mean, I haven’t really talked about it before,” Kara says, scooting up against the headboard so she can wrap her arms around her folded knees. She rests her cheek against them to look at Lena. “Not with anyone. Not even Alex. I was so, so angry when I first got here. At my parents, for leaving me. That I couldn’t talk to them, ask them why they’d done it. That my adopted family couldn’t understand me and didn’t want me to be myself. I was angry in ways I couldn’t express because I didn’t know how and didn’t want to upset my new family. They… they gave up so much to take me in. If I didn’t… I had nowhere else to go.”

She remembers a day, late in the first summer, before Alex had warmed up to her and when Eliza and Jeremiah’s voices had still sounded so _loud_ , where in her frustration—all she’d done was take a walk! She didn’t need to be kept inside, and she didn’t need to be lectured! And she didn’t even have the English words to tell the Danvers _why_ she’d needed to be outside—she’d accidentally pulled her bedroom’s door from its hinges. She’d stared in shock at the splinters of wood still stuck to the hinges on the doorframe and then at the metal handle misshapen like clay in her hand, and her body had trembled in fear at her uncontrolled power. She felt her anger melt away like those little cubes of frozen water Alex liked in her drinks, replaced instead with the feeling of tears burning at the back of her eyes. At the time, Jeremiah had rubbed her shoulders and reassured her that it was okay. But later that night, from four rooms away, Kara had heard him and Eliza whispering about _money_ and _safety_. She’d learned, then, that even her anger had to be bottled up and hidden away with all the rest of her that wasn’t quite _human_.

“Oh, Kara,” Lena breathes, pressing her trembling fingers together over her chest. “Did it… get better? Are you still angry?”

“No! Well. I mean. Everyone gets angry. But I’m a perfectly normal amount of angry, ha!” Kara forces out a laugh.

Because she isn’t angry, not really. She’s not angry that her life was cut tragically short, just like the lives of everyone she’d once known. She’s not angry that she never got to say goodbye to Alex and might never. She’s not angry that she might never get to go home, and will be stuck in this _limbo_ for eternity. She’s not angry that she can’t eat or sleep or feel the sun on her face. She’s not angry that she watched her best friend almost _die_ today, while she stood helpless as explosions rocked the air around them. And she’s certainly not angry about being shooed away and told to _go home_ like some sort of pest. She’s not angry. Why would she be? Anger is a waste of energy. She’s _not_ angry!

Kara and Lena sit in tense silence for a few minutes until Lena rolls over with a soft sigh.

“I’m angry,” Lena whispers. “I’m… I’m angry at my birth parents for giving me up. At my dad for being inconsistent and cruel. At my mother for never loving me and treating me like shit. And—and I’m angry at my brother—at Lex—for leaving me. For being so sick he lost sight of what matters. The brother I love was corrupted by hatred. I’m… I’m angry that I’m never good enough for anyone, that people will choose literally anything else over me, time and time again. And—and I’m angry that my event was ruined today. L-Corp’s _first_ event! I’m angry that there’s yet _another_ stain on my name and my company, that my time to shine was overshadowed by Lex’s twisted, useless, _petty_ vendetta.”

Kara’s chest aches while Lena talks, growing sharper as she elaborates. “That’s just... really unfair,” she soothes. The words are too little, nowhere near enough to convey the burning in Kara’s chest when she thinks about the constant pressure Lena faces to be more-than-perfect. “You didn’t—don’t—deserve to be treated that way. ”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Lena says. She glances over at Kara’s arm hovering awkwardly just over her back. After a moment of consideration, she turns back to meet Kara’s eyes with her own and nods her head, almost imperceptibly. With a grateful smile, Kara lowers her arm over Lena’s shoulders, giving a small, watery laugh at the way Lena reflexively shivers beneath her. And it's a little uncomfortable, with Kara's arm held stiffly in the air and occasionally phasing into Lena's neck and back as she moves, but it's the closest she's felt with another person in over a year and it's perfect. 

After a while, Lena tilts slightly toward Kara and whispers, “I’m really going to miss you, you know—once we find your sister. You’ve... become my best friend.”

 _And you’ve become mine_ , Kara wants to say. But instead, she swallows her affirmation. It’s too hard. After today. She needs to detach. Needs to not think about how light and safe and happy she feels around Lena. Guilt gnaws at her stomach: this time, she’ll be the one to leave. And it’s a horrible feeling.

* * *

Lena and Kara fall back into their routine together, just as before. Only now there is a tenderness between them, a comfort that Kara didn’t realize she needed. Lena brightens when she comes home to find Kara waiting by the front door for her, a smile breaking across her face like a sunrise. She visibly relaxes when Kara swings by the office during her lunch break—the tension in her shoulders falling away as she unnecessarily clears a space on her desk for Kara to sit. And there is a spark in Kara’s chest whenever Lena looks at her, a giddy sort of effervescence that makes Kara beam. 

Kara starts going to more of Lena’s meetings—first as moral support, a friendly face hovering awkwardly in the corner to send Lena thumbs-ups or goofy expressions when she needed them most, and then to listen in on its proceedings and break it down with Lena over a single, lonely box of pad thai with extra vegetables later that night. She still spends some time during the work day drifting around the city and helping people out where she can. It eases some of her restlessness. She’s never been one for idle hands or an idle mind, lest the ghosts from her past catch up with her. She _hates_ feeling useless. And besides, memories of the way she’d frozen up in fear during the explosion at L-Corp haunt her during silent moments. She takes a more active role now, plunging her hands through people’s chests to get them to avoid a shortcut or or distracting the armed man hanging behind a convenience store by stepping directly into him when she heard someone approach. It’s nothing heroic, of course. It’s just what anybody would do in her situation. And it certainly doesn’t make up for her paralysis when it mattered most. It doesn’t make up for the people hurt due to her negligence, for the people she’s unable to protect. At least—at least Lena’s mostly okay, even if she’s shaken from almost dying _again_.

She also recommits to keeping Lena safe, staying vigilant of any new threats against her life. Kara memorizes her daily schedule so she always knows where Lena’s supposed to be and who she’s supposed to be with, and she triple-checks every car, conference room and restaurant Lena enters, even after her security team verifies that it’s safe for her to pass.

And Lena, for her part, begins putting on a Netflix queue for Kara before she goes to sleep, clucking her tongue and admonishing Kara with an exaggerated eye-roll both for not asking earlier for something to entertain her during the long, quiet and stiflingly boring hours of night and for Kara’s _apparently_ horrendous tastes in romantic comedies, that Lena nevertheless sets up for her shortly after dinner (and occasionally joins in when she can’t sleep).

Kara used to fly through the city streets and alleyways at night as well, early after she learned she could use her unnerving presence to distract potential criminals. The desire to make a difference itched beneath her skin in death just as it had in life, driving her away from the comfort of her chosen person’s rhythmic heartbeat. But she quickly learned the crimes that occur under the cover of night are infinitely more insidious, and she can’t stomach watching them helplessly when she isn’t able to stop them. She can’t handle the guilt that would linger for _weeks_ when she failed to make a difference. 

So now she spends each night hovering above a pile of Lena’s blankets (she’d laid out her softest pairs, even though Kara can’t feel them), re-watching her favorites and then, when she exhausts the list, tackling seasons of TV shows at a time. She’d always been too busy to commit to binging properly, and it’s definitely not as fun without snacks and drinks and the ability to pause if she wants to take a break. But it’s better to be distracted by _Friends_ and _How I Met Your Mother_ than to either be miserable with the knowledge that she’s laughing at the TV while people throughout the city are the victims of _horrific_ crimes that she can occasionally hear, or to be tempted by the unending chanting from the stars above her, still pleading for her to return home. It’s not a perfect or permanent solution, but it’s… good. It’s better than yearning to make a difference, or to return to the stars, with nothing to act as a ballast for her restless energy.

“What do I look like to you?” Kara asks one evening. Lena is stretched along the couch and Kara settles by her feet, randomly running her finger up and down the sole of Lena’s foot to watch her shiver and squirm, their movie long-forgotten in the background.

“What do you mean?” Lena turns her head lazily to look down at her.

“Like,” Kara rephrases, “What do you see when you look at me me? You mentioned once that I was… fuzzy? Blurry? When we first met.”

“You remember that?” Lena scrunches her face. “That was so long ago!”

“Yeah,” Kara mumbles, suddenly shy. “I—I remember everything you tell me.”

“Oh,” Lena pauses, startled and pleased at the same time. “It’s like… it’s sort of like I can only see you when I’m not thinking about you, if that makes sense. If I try to focus, you disappear. Like, just fade away. But if you move fast, or I’m looking at something else, you’re there. I can kind of see your face and expressions, sometimes, but it’s more like you’re leaving an imprint. Like an afterimage, the way shapes can continue to glow after a camera flash.”

“Whoa...” Kara pokes at her stomach—she can see herself just fine, mostly solid under her fingers.

“It’s interesting,” Lena says, holding back a smile at Kara’s impromptu examination.

“I guess,” Kara laughs. She lifts her hand up close to her face. Nope. No blurriness here.

After a comfortable silence, Kara rolls over and looks up at Lena. “Hey, Lena? Has, um, has there been any news on Alex?” Her voice trailed off—awkward, hesitant to broach the topic.

In the beginning, Lena would tell Kara that she had not found any information on Alex shortly after she came home every night, of course. But that ritual had faded after weeks of silence. And it isn’t that Kara had _forgotten_ Alex, exactly; it was just easier to let go of her preoccupation and trust that Lena would tell her if she found anything.

“No,” Lena frowns, fidgeting with her hands. She picks at her cuticles. “Still nothing. Every so often there’s a spike in her name, but it’s at a rate that’s highly insignificant, and it never turns up anything. It usually vanishes completely in a couple of hours, like it’s been wiped. The PI hasn’t found anything, either.”

“It’s been nearly three months!” Kara moans, kicking her feet.

“I know,” Lena sighs, her voice tinged with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Kara. I wish there was more I could do for you.”

“No! I didn’t mean—don’t apologize! You’re doing so much!” Kara shoots up so fast she’s dizzy for a moment. “You let me live here! You hired a _private investigator_ for me! You’ve—”

Kara cuts herself off, staring at Lena with a pleading expression. _You’ve been my best friend._

“Well,” Lena chuckles, deflecting. “It’s not like I can’t afford to heat my house for a few extra hours every night. And besides, I enjoy your company. I’d be all alone in National City without you.” she shrugs, staring intently down at her hands with practiced nonchalance.

 _Me too_. “Oh, come on!” Kara says, incredulous and hoping her smile comes off as more reassuring than nervous. Lena did have her dinner at home most nights, and, well, the two of them _have_ spent the majority of her free time together. Kara chews her cheek as she ponders whether her almost-existence and constant presence in Lena’s life is denying her relationships with other people. Alive people. People she could touch and toss popcorn at and see. People who would still be there for her even after Kara finally said goodbye to Alex and left for the black hole where Krypton once stood.

(Denying Lena friendships, just like she’d done to Alex, before.)

“I—I’m sure you’ve made friends here, Lena,” Kara continues, although her confidence quickly fades away.

“Not really, no,” Lena shrugs. “I’ve never made friends easily; I’ve always had trouble connecting with people. And I quite like to be alone.”

“Oh, me too!” Kara says, brightening. Lena shoots Kara a look of disbelief, which Kara shrugs right back. “I mean, except that I hate being alone. But after my pla—my parents died, it was really difficult to connect with anyone. Especially strangers. I didn’t know… didn’t have the right words to make real friends. I couldn’t be honest. I had to… hide who I was and what I felt. So, even though I was always around people, it was like a part of me was still that lonely girl who’d lost her world, I guess.”

Lena nods sympathetically and then laughs, humorless and dour. “Tell me about it. I-I mean I know what you mean. About not being genuine. I never know quite how to act around people. Luthors don’t do emotion. Well, that’s what my mother taught me—not that she paid much attention. I’ve never been well-liked, either. The kids at boarding school thought I was stuck-up, and the teachers thought I was a smart-ass.” Lena offers a wry, crooked smile. “I got really good at faking it, at being the _precisely_ right amount of smart and witty and interested in what others have to say, especially once I got to college. But that’s just a cocktail trick. It’s not _real_. In fact, I don’t think I made a true friend outside of my brother until I was 17, and he was nearly a decade older than me.”

Kara rubs her fingers together, frowning down at them. Something in her chest _burns,_ hot and furious, whenever Lena mentions her childhood. She speaks so cavalierly about being ignored, disparaged and humiliated, like it’s all in the past and doesn’t affect her now, but Kara knows better. Kara sees how unhappy Lena is. How disconnected she is. How no one calls to check in on her. How she bites her cuticles whenever she’s waiting for an important meeting. How she comes home from social situations and nearly collapses from relief that it’s over, as though the effort to keep herself polite and agreeable was going to make her explode.

The way others treat Lena makes an unfamiliar rage churn in Kara’s gut. Unappreciated, ridiculed, ostracized, treated with suspicion even though she's done _nothing_ wrong—how _dare_ everyone treat Lena so poorly. She’s amazing! Brilliant and bold and loving, funny and generous beyond belief, goofy and strong, but tinged with sadness and insecurities like the edge of a paper that’s been burned, curling inward and turning to dust. But there was no way for Kara to talk about this without bursting the bubble Lena’s built around herself to keep her feelings from coming to light, and so Kara swallows her rage and says:

“Yeah, I think my closest friend outside of my sister was the IT guy at CatCo. He was always into, like, alien conspiracies and nerdy stuff like that—he must be so excited about everything going on right now.”

“Hmm,” Lena agrees, rolling over onto her stomach so she could peer up at Kara. “Have you thought about reaching out to him? Maybe he could help us track down Alex.”

“I—” Kara’s throat closes up when she thinks about Winn, remembers him slumping down against the wall in grief. “I don’t know. I don’t want… I don’t think he even _knows_ Alex. The only time they talked was when Alex called him to tell him I’d di—I just don’t want him to get attached. I don’t want to put him through that.” _Again_ , she thinks.

“Wait,” Lena says, sitting up and raising her hand. “I just realized something—assuming we _do_ find Alex, how will you talk to her? I’m the only one who can see and hear you, right?

“So far, yeah,” Kara says. “I… I don’t know. I guess I assumed she’d be able to see me this time. Like, it’d just be… right.” Images of the last time Kara saw Alex flash vividly back into her mind: curled desperately around her ankles like a kitten, crying so hard her chest was heaving, screaming her name in desperation while her sister ignored her, just clutching the window and staring outside. Not understanding why Alex couldn't just look down and see her—hear her, feel her—when she was right _there_. The palpable ache in Kara’s chest that crushed her every time she thought about Alex hit her in full force, and she sinks miserably into the couch.

“But what if she can’t?” Lena whispers, sitting up and curling her arms around her knees, moving closer as Kara tries to pull away, even when Kara sees goosebumps begin to spread on her arms. “What if I’m just a fluke?”

It takes Kara a moment to respond. “I—I don’t know,” she admits, small and scared. She swipes at her eyes. “I guess, um, I could just tell you what to say and you’d tell her?”

It feels _wrong_ —the idea of Kara never getting to hug or even say _goodbye_ to her sister intensifies the weight pressing down on her chest. Already, she knows Lena’s translation wouldn’t be enough; she needs to see her sister, to feel her face under her fingers and her heartbeat through their hug for Kara to truly gain closure. She _needs_ it. And she’d just assumed she would be alone when she was reunited with Alex—how could she tell Lena to ask Alex how to find Krypton?

Rao, how was she going to say goodbye to Alex?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's reviewed! Please continue to do so—your comments make my week and encourage me to keep posting regularly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out evacuating a monster hurricane really, really messes with your update schedule, especially when the next chapter requires massive rewrites. I'm so happy to be back! 
> 
> But not everybody has that privilege. The Caribbean is being hit extraordinarily hard by this hurricane season. If you possibly have any spare change to donate to the relief efforts, please do! And if you drop me a line about it, either here or on Tumblr (@burnslikeabluedream), I'll match you for as long as I'm able. This includes any donations made to Mexico for earthquake relief as well. Heres's a link to a post on my tumblr with more information. It has suggested places for donation, too. https://burnslikeabluedream.tumblr.com/post/165598122916/who-wants-to-donate-to-hurricaneearthquake-relief
> 
> All the awards for my very patient betas, Alex (blatant_sock_account) and Kal (MsSirEy). They're so cool and they know this story better than I do, I'm sure.

The month after the naming ceremony is uneventful, for which Lena is grateful. Finally a chance to get her work done without the imminent threat of death and destruction looming over her. Lena and Kara hit a stride in their routine: they enjoy their mornings and evenings together while they spend their days apart. Most of the time, Kara flies around the city, stalking criminals of all things and trying to prevent crimes by “giving the bad guys heebie-jeebies”, as she claims. Like National City’s very own secret superhero. Its very own Superman, only without the superiority. And the tangibility. Lena doesn’t know if she’s particularly effective, but she clearly derives a great sense of purpose from weeding out National City’s criminal underground, one bike thief or curbside mugger at a time.

The weather turns uncharacteristically dreary for National City in mid-November. One particularly miserable afternoon, Lena sits at her desk, tapping her phone against her palm and counting down the minutes until she can go home. Just over an hour remains in her workday, by her very precise count. Nearly everything’s been completed; her meetings wrapped up and her board members temporarily appeased, like distracting a toddler with a set of shiny keys. Raindrops spatter rhythmically against her window, blending with the soft instrumental swing music trickling out of her speakers. She sighs, turning away from the rainy, drab view of the city to re-read a proposed press release for the newest of L-Corp patented technology: a thermal imaging camera for self-driving cars. It’s the fifth time she’s looked through it for typos. Her schedule had been blissfully and very intentionally light today—a rarity that makes her one part relieved and one part stir crazy. Now, all that stands between her and a long, relaxing bubble bath is a meeting with a _Daily Planet_ reporter. Lena’s no stranger to the _Planet_ , and her consent to be interviewed is filled with no small amount of reluctance and trepidation on her part.

But things are different now. L-Corp is well on its way to a path for good. Lex is behind bars and has been mercifully quiet since the last attack. Not even a single assassination attempt, although Lena can’t say she misses it terribly. Her mother is off... doing whatever it is one does with a beloved son in prison and a grudgingly-tolerated adopted daughter doing everything she could to undo his legacy. Most importantly, she’s staying out of Lena’s way. So whatever well-deserved grievance the _Planet_ and its valued reporter Clark Kent may have against Lex, they’ve kept Lena out of it. Wanting to talk now can only be a good sign, surely. An opportunity to forge positive press relations and build her company’s fledgling reputation. After the latest article, Lex’s genocide will be the furthest thing from everyone's minds because all the public will think of when they hear Lena’s last name is _her_.

Lena closes her laptop with a little more force than necessary and stands slowly, purposefully, brushing creases out of her skirt. She crosses the room and pours herself a glass of water, biting her lip as she walks. A nervous habit, although she’d never admit it. She sips her drink and watches the rain come down in sheets, trying to soothe her nerves with deep breaths and mindful pulls of crisp, triple-filtered water.

 _Be nice,_ Lena tells herself. _Be professional, be strong. Don't apologize for others. Don't be snippy. This_ will _go well and before you know it, you'll be home yelling at_ America’s Got Talent _with Kara._

Kara.

She’s been a bastion of light in Lena’s life. She’s her greatest friend, balancing out Lena’s anxiety with calm words and her dark moods with carefree companionship. Lena doesn’t need to see or touch Kara to know just how much she cares for her. Kara’s presence—her energy—is uplifting instead of exhausting for Lena, a surprising difference from her usual preference to be alone.

However, their relationship isn't without tension. Of course it’s not. Kara’s friendship has always been a temporary deal; her presence in Lena’s life was stamped with an expiration date from the very beginning. One day, she was going to leave for good. And Lena... Lena is a friend of necessity, at best. The only person Kara can actually communicate with, and her only chance at eventually finding her sister short of arbitrarily wandering around the world. And Lena _hopes_ that their friendship is real—God, she wants it to be real. But she can't escape the cruel voice whispering in the back of her mind that Kara is only placating her, only staying around because she has no other options. And so Lena can’t let herself feel fully comfortable around Kara. She _won’t_. She won’t let her guard down completely, no matter how tempting it is. She needs to keep some distance, an emotional space to mirror their physical impenetrability. She won’t for a moment let herself forget that Kara isn’t hers to keep. She’s going to leave all too soon. And when she does, Lena will _not_ let herself cry. Because… well, Lena knows how their story ends. She knows there’s no future for the two of them. She knows their fates are sealed. Kara is dead, and Lena is doomed to be alone because the person she’s grown to—to care for more than anyone else in the world already has both feet in the grave.

And, on top of that, Lena’s paranoia clings to her like a stain on her hands that won't wash away no matter how much she scrubs them. A lifetime of love and affection being dangled in front of her to entice her only to be taken away as a punishment for her failures has scarred her, made her into a jittery and distrustful person. Even though she _wants_ to believe everything Kara tells her—including her completely unfathomable presence as a _ghost_ , of all things—there are these little inconsistencies to her narrative that nag at Lena’s consciousness, like a stubborn weed taking root in her mind. It’s just, there are so many things that don’t add up: stories that end abruptly, easy questions Kara inexplicably can’t answer—

A sharp knock at Lena’s door rouses her from her musings. Three even raps, equally spaced. The interview. Lena shelves her own brooding thoughts for another time. Hopefully a time when she can have a real drink.

“One moment,” Lena calls. She sets down her glass, nervously starts toward the doors. She’s distracted enough while fussing with brushing imaginary creases from her top that she winds up checking the edge of her desk with her hip. She hisses, rubs it and crosses the room to open the weighty doors to her office, forcing a pleasant smile onto her face. Poised, professional and polite. She’s got this.

“Welcome,” she says, gesturing for the—for the _woman_ in front of her to enter. Lena’s smile falters for a moment. It’s not that she was _expecting_ Clark Kent, but he had taken to handling anything Luthor-related over at the _Planet_. And, truthfully, she’d been prepared for Clark’s gentle-but-steely questions, his calm demeanor and imposing height and awkward smile. But a different journalist is there to greet her. Lena recognizes her no-nonsense slacks and comfortable smirk immediately.

“Lois Lane,” Lena brings her smile back with full force, although now it requires a greater degree of effort. “The _Planet_ ’s finest. I can't believe they'd spare you to come all the way out here just to interview me—isn't this more Clark Kent’s style?”

A flash of something dark briefly crosses Lois’s face before she regains composure. _Fuck_ , Lena thinks. _Be nice. Kind._

“Yes, well,” she says, awkwardly tucking some damp hair behind her ear. “Off the record, there was a death in Clark’s family that hit him really hard. He’s been taking a break from big city journalism—he’s actually in the Arctic right now, looking into the effects of climate change. That man… loves his solitude.”

“Huh, that's not how I remember him,” Lena tilts her head. “But—er, I mean, it's been _years_. How are you? Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Water, please,” Lois says. Lena gestures to the chair in front of her desk as she goes to fetch Lois a glass of water.

“Before we begin,” Lena says, handing Lois the glass over the length of her desk. A powerplay, admittedly, but it feels good regardless. She settles into her chair and flicks her hair over her shoulder, out of the way. “Tell me: how is Lucy?”

Lois’s smile stretches her cheeks but doesn't reach her eyes. “She's a major now,” she says. “She was here a couple of months ago, actually. To catch up with her on-again-off-again.” Her tone is pointed.

“Oh, wow,” Lena says. She smiles, hoping to smooth over the uncomfortable tension caused by the mention of Lucy’s newer relationship. Lucy had always been turbulent; her relationships were often fleeting and strained. It's both what had drawn the two of them together and what had ultimately forced them apart. But that was years ago—before MIT, before West Point and before Lex and Clark’s disastrous falling out. “You must be so proud of her, making major.”

“Of course!” Lois smiles again, bright and fake, and takes a delicate sip from her glass. Lena remembers why she never liked Lois: her aloofness translates to insincerity.

“Well,” Lois says after a moment. She sets her glass down and picks up a pad and pen, dropping her cheery persona in an instant. “You _must_ know why I'm here, Lena.”

“Actually, I can't say that I do.” Lena brushes her hands over some legal papers in front of her, kept intentionally on her otherwise-clean desk to offer her a distraction. “L-Corp hasn’t released anything of note in weeks, nor has my brother said or done anything newsworthy since the last assassin he sent after me.”

“Hm, yes, right.” Lois frowns and leans forward. “I’ve heard about the rift between you and your brother. He blames you for his downfall in his memoir and accuses you of ‘colluding with the enemy.’”

Lena winces. She knows about the memoir, of course, but she can’t bear to pick it up. She doesn’t know what would be worse, the realization that the rambling passages felt as if they were written by a complete stranger, or that they sounded just like the young man she’d once looked up to.

“Yes, well, my brother’s downfall is no one’s but his own,” she says pointedly. “Having him name me interim CEO before his arrest was perfectly legal, and wanting to keep the company _he_ worked so hard to build afloat can hardly be considered ‘colluding with the enemy.’ And it will take more than a few assassination attempts to dissuade me from pursuing my goals. But I’ve said this all before, in countless interviews over the past year. That can’t be why you’re here, Ms. Lane.”

Lois nods. “Of course. Tell me, Lena: what do you know about something called Project Cadmus?”

Lena keeps her expression neutral. She’s familiar with the organization, in name at least, but it had fallen off her radar ages ago. “They’re a genetic engineering program that works with the government,” she explains. “I believe Luthor Corp formerly had ties with them, although that relationship was terminated well before Lex’s trials.”

“Actually, we’re not sure how ‘former’ that relationship is,” Lois says. She stares at Lena, hard and unflinching. “Are you aware of what happened two weeks ago in Queensland Park?”

“The massacre?” Lena asks. When Lois nods, she continues. “Yes, of course. It’s a _tragedy._ Six whole families, murdered in cold blood, gunned down by firing squad while eating in a restaurant. I was in shock when I heard the news.”

Lois nods again, but her glare is sharp. “So does it matter to you that some of the families in question were not of this planet?”

Lena’s stomach drops. “How can you even ask that?”

Lois opens her mouth but Lena cuts her off, her shock turning to a sharp anger that burned its way through her chest.

“No, let me rephrase that. Of _course_ it doesn’t matter to me that some of the victims were aliens. They—they  weren’t doing anything wrong. Weren’t hurting anyone. They didn’t deserve to die like that!” Lena balls her fists in aggravation under the table.

“There’s no need to be defensive, Lena,” Lois chastises, scribbling something in her notepad. Lena grinds her teeth. “Are you aware of the organization that claimed responsibility for the attack?” Lois continues. “The Sapien Nation?”

“No, I can’t say that I am.” Lena smiles, toothy and stiff. _Be professional_ , she reminds herself again. 

“They’re a human supremacy group,” Lois says. “They claim that they’re patriots whose mission is to protect the Earth from alien invaders. They say that they fight now to ensure that the Earth is safe for humans and humans only both now and in the future. They started up in Gotham and spread quickly to Metropolis and Central City. They’re starting to gain serious momentum in National City as well. Frankly, I’m surprised you aren’t keeping tabs on them as part of L-Corp’s promise to help combat terrorism.” And although Lois’s tone is one of genuine surprise, her raised eyebrow and unwavering stare give away her real accusations.

“Oh,” Lena says, ignoring the jab at L-Corp. “That’s unfortunate.” She knows a bit about human supremacy—hard not to with her brother being, well. Himself. Human supremacy has tied together a variety of disparate nationalist movements, uniting them along a singular anti-alien stance. It’s the source of extraterrestrial xenophobia both on- and offline. Their rhetoric has more recently been inciting an escalation from extremist ideology to acts of physical violence and terror against both extraterrestrials and the humans who sympathize with them, spurred in no small part by the manifestos Lex had published before his arrest.

“More than ‘unfortunate’, I’d say,” Lois adds, fixing Lena with a pointed stare. “And what is your take on the clashes in Gotham’s East End?”  

“I’m afraid I don’t see the relevance of my opinion on the subject,” Lena says, bristling. "I thought this was meant to be a personal interview, not a reaction to the week's news."

“It’s almost a warzone there,” Lois says, ignoring the obvious dismissal. “The SN is clashing with organizations such as the Alien Protection Group, the pro-alien militia that has resorted to violence in order to, as they claim, ‘protect their vulnerable community at all costs.’ They’ve bombed four buildings, including one police station, and have killed about twenty civilians. The National Guard is getting called in.”

Lena blanches. “That’s horrible.”

“Yes,” Lois agrees. “The APG claims that extraterrestrial communities will never be safe around humans. They advocate for the establishment of a sovereign, alien-exclusive state, and it is widely speculated that they are using a cover organization to lobby the UN for such protections right now.”

Lena nods, schooling her features into a neutral expression. She knows a journalistic trap when she sees one. The national liberation movements of oppressed people and their separatist aspirations are delicate subjects, and Lena doesn’t want to get caught saying something she would regret later. Any reaction or statement she gives could easily be twisted, particularly given her company's past connections.

Although, admittedly, she personally wishes that the people of Earth didn’t have to deal with the additional burden of their extraterrestrial neighbors. At least not yet. There were still so many issues—climate change, income inequality, fascism, _human_ refugees—that they hadn’t even begun to address. And aliens complicated _everything_. There would come a day, of course, when Earth could be a sanctuary that could welcome all forms of peaceful, law-abiding life with open arms. But how could they be that place _now_ , when humans—Earth’s original inhabitants—were still struggling to find their way? How could they divert already scarce resources away from the people living here who relied upon them and instead offer them away to outsiders? Were governments supposed to prioritize extraterrestrial arrivals while ignoring years-long waiting lists for human asylum-seekers, let alone the even longer waiting lists for people looking to immigrate under less critical circumstances? Political, social and economic instability are breeding grounds for hatred and extremism—and literal _aliens_ only added fodder to xenophobic sentiments. One day, Lena knows things could be different— _will_ be different. But, for now, how can a planet promise safety to extraterrestrial outsiders when it is unable to provide that safety for its own people?

But it’s not Lena’s place as the public face of her company to have those sorts of opinions, of course. Just to react to the news as it comes in and offer solutions to the pragmatic problems that present themselves.  

“So,” Lois continues after an awkward silence. “What do you think of all that’s happening?”

Lena quirks her eyebrow. “Are you asking me because you value my opinion, Ms. Lane, or…?”

Lois’s face hardens, and she leans forward in her chair. “No, I’m asking you as the sister of the Earth’s most notorious alien-killer, Ms. Luthor. And as the CEO of a company with an extensive, stained record when it comes to alien rights.”

Lena bites the inside of her cheek so hard she tastes iron. “Well, our past may have stains, Ms. Lane, but our future is bright. We’ve cooperated with every law enforcement agency to provide both information and evidence regarding my brother’s actions. We are ranked the most transparent organization in the nation by the Metropolis Herald. We’ve fired entire teams of scientists who helped design the weapons my brother used to try to take down Superman, and we’ve hired the _brightest_ scientific minds to innovate and build a great future for us _all_ to share. We’ve run extensive background checks on every single L-Corp employee down to the janitorial staff. We’ve shut down countless projects, factories and warehouses my brother used in his anti-alien vendetta.”

Lena swallows hard and leans back. The words had burst forth like a dam overwhelmed by a sudden surge of water—she’d obviously had a lot of pent-up frustrations that had been clamoring to get out. She’s worked too damn hard to sit still and let someone imply corruption within her company.

But Lois just glowers with the self-righteousness of a cat who’s trapped a mouse. “You claim your future is ‘bright,’” she repeats. “So, please, can you tell me why, when police apprehended a group of SN and APG agents, both parties were found to have weapons far more advanced than anything we have on Earth? Weapons which we were able to trace to the same distributor? Who we have reason to believe is a subsidiary of Cadmus?”

Lena pauses in order to choose her words carefully.

“This is not an uncommon occurrence within the military industrial complex,” Lena finally replies. She furrows her brow. “Tear gas manufactured in Civic City is used against protestors from Keystone City to Kahndaq. Our government arms rebel groups in the same country fighting each other because they also fight against our enemies.”

“So, you knew that Cadmus is arming pro- and anti-alien groups in Gotham?”

“No, of course not!” Lena snaps, frustrated and nervous from the way the interview is slipping out of her control. She sighs once, short and pained. “Look, all I am saying is that I’m not surprised. As I said before, I know nothing about Cadmus.”

“If you know nothing about Cadmus,” Lois says, easily picking up on Lena’s frustration. “Why was L-Corp aligned with them as recently as last week?”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying, Ms. Lane,” Lena grits out. The world is shifting beneath her, and she subtly clutches to the edge of her desk to ground herself. This is—surely some sort of mistake. “Cadmus is a genetic engineering organization that cooperates with the U.S. government. If L-Corp and Cadmus collaborate, it can only be through a joint, government-sponsored initiative.”

“Actually, if you’ve been following the news, Cadmus split ties with the government after President Marsdin first announced her plans for alien amnesty.” Lois says, glancing briefly down at her notes before fixing her eyes upon Lena’s once again. “In fact, they released a broadcast shortly afterwards in which they spelled out exactly why they were terminating their relationship. They claim that, and I quote, ‘by granting amnesty to extraterrestrials, the U.S. government no longer acts on behalf of its citizens and has fallen into the hands of an alien cabal that seeks to take over the world and enslave us all.’”

“I’m sorry, but that sounds like something right out of an old comic book,” Lena crosses her arms, digging her nails into the flesh of her arms so hard they leave little red indentations. “Of fringe websites and conspiracy theories.”

“I agree, but _your_ brother was the leader of that movement,” Lois points out. “Are you not the heir?”

“What exactly are you implying, Lois?” Lena grips her arms harder until she can’t feel the sharp crescents digging into her skin anymore. _Calm, poised, professional. It will be over soon, just get through it.._

“Your lab in Dos Rios,” Lois says, her eyes shining with an unmistakable glint: the investigative journalist who has just found her scoop. “We traced the weapons to the L-Corp lab there.”

“That lab develops all sorts of technology,” Lena snaps, already running through a mental list of their recent activities. There’s been nothing out of the ordinary that she can remember since she’d inherited the company. “Both under my brother’s and my own tutelage. Whatever weapons that were developed there while under the direction of Luthor Corp is unfortunate, but it’s outside of my control.”

Lena pauses. She unclenches her fingers, flexes them and then folds them together with her elbows on her desk so that she can rest her forehead against her steepled hands. She inhales, trying to calm her racing heart. She hates interviews, hates being tied to her brother's madness and hates being cornered. And, above all else, she _hates_ reporters.

 _I could kick her out_ , she thinks. _Or fake a heart attack._ Admittedly, not her greatest idea, although she’s a little limited for options. Instead, she exhales long and slow and then continues: “After Lex was locked up, I vowed to take back my family’s company. To make it a force for good. To atone for the atrocious, unspeakable acts my brother committed during his reign of terror. Surely you, of all people, can understand wanting to forge a path for oneself outside of your family’s legacy.”

“That’s noble,” Lois says flatly, gesturing with an open palm. “A good story to feed to the press, to write in your memoirs. Maybe even to lie to yourself.”

Lena forces out a tight laugh, hoping to dissolve the tension. And to ease her defensiveness. Relax. She opens her mouth to reply, but Lois cuts her off.

“The weapons these terrorist groups are using are _currently_ being manufactured by L-Corp, Ms. Luthor. I would think you’d be aware of that,” Lois lets the statement hang in the air for a moment, her words like a solid blow to Lena’s chest, leaving her stunned and breathless. “They’re being manufactured by L-Corp on behalf of Cadmus.”

Lena clenches her fists and fights away a sudden urge to scream. She takes a long, shuddering breath and then spits out: “If you are done _accusing_ me and my company of _supporting terrorism_ with absolutely no proof, you may leave.”

Because Lois is wrong. Just… flat-out, dead wrong. She _has_ to be. It's impossible. Lena has spent so much time and money ensuring her company had been scrubbed clean of Lex's influence—it's _impossible_. L-Corp _can’t_ be funding terrorism. They _can’t_ be manufacturing weapons used to arm both sides of the anti-alien war building in the streets, without her even knowing about it. They _can’t_. She made _sure_ that this sort of thing couldn’t happen! Lena’s face burns, and her eyes begin to sting. But she won’t let herself rub them, won’t let herself blink; she stays professional, even as she wants to fall apart.

“Lena,” Lois softens, looking at her with soft eyes and a drawn brow, like she pities Lena even as she doesn’t believe her. Lena knows that look well—she’s been on the receiving end of it for twenty years—and she knows that it holds no real kindness. Lois drops a business card on Lena’s desk. “As a favor to you and our history, I will withhold submitting my article for twenty-four hours. That should be enough time for you to take steps to rectify this. If you are truly as good as you claim—and I truly hope you are—call me when it’s all over, send me evidence the weapons production will stop, and my piece will be gentle. If not… well, I imagine this piece will be receiving a lot of attention, if you understand what I mean.”

Lena clenches her jaw and picks up her tablet. She taps randomly at the screen, suddenly needing to look occupied, needing to hide the sickening warmth in her cheeks she knows will show up as a telling flush. “You can see yourself out,” she spits.

Lois nods, sends a final pitying look in Lena’s direction and leaves. Lena waits until the door shuts loudly behind her to drop the tablet back to her desk. Alone and suffocated by panic, Lena lets out a shuddering cry. She pulls out her phone with shaking hands and dials the number for the Dos Rios lab. Her thumb hovers over the call button before she erases it. She punches in the number for the police and deletes it as well before calling her home phone. It rings for an eternal, tortuous minute before clicking to voicemail. A landline at her place she wouldn’t have otherwise bought, but leaving Kara a voicemail was the quickest way to reach her while Lena was at work. 

“Kara?” Lena says, and she hates the way her voice trembles. “Can you… can you come by? I need y—can you just please come by when you get the chance?"

* * *

The investigation begins within a few hours, though Lena doesn’t go home for nearly two days after that. Once Kara helps calm her down, Lena calls the police and begins to review anything coming in or out of the Dos Rios facility. Luckily, the crisis eventually clears up, and Lena is ‘rewarded’ for her cooperation with yet another lengthy government analysis of L-Corp’s financial records rather than anything more severe. The weapons manufacturing side of the L-Corp branch in Dos Rios is promptly shut down, the supervisor responsible for the covert sales is fired, and a very large, very public donation to an anti-terror task force is signed. The article Lois runs is not overtly negative, at least, but it far from improves Lena’s public image. She finds herself both grateful and embittered for that.

Would it have hurt Lois to at least _mention_ the K-12 STEAM program Lena had started in National City’s public school system, with a fully funded scholarship track for college? Or the 5 million she was granting to a partnership between the Luthor Children’s Hospital Network and National City University’s College of Medicine in order to study and cure rare genetic diseases? The dozens of patents for lifesaving technology and the hundreds of products already stocking the shelves in stores around America? Even the new National City Public Library branch that an L-Corp donation had made possible? Anything to make L-Corp—to make _Lena_ —more than a bystander to, or an accessory of, a literal _terrorism_ plot.

Of course, Lena launches yet another internal investigation into L-Corp’s many projects and employees, which—of _course_ —turns up nothing suspicious. That is, until it hits a roadblock while attempting to subpoena Lillian Luthor’s records. Everything had been either classified or redacted within the past few months. After assigning a barrage of lawyers to the process of recovering her mother’s records, Lena lets it slip from her consciousness. She hasn't spoken to her mom since Lex was carted away to Stryker’s Island. As far as Lena knows or cares, she’s still away mourning in the mountains of Galonia, speaking to no one.

Truth be told, Lena much prefers not having to even _think_ about the woman. They’d never been close and obviously never would be. Lena thought they were _done_ , that she’d never have to see her mom again, because with Lionel and Lex gone there was no more need for pretense. No need for Lillian to bother acknowledging that she had a daughter. Not a _real_ daughter, of course—she’d never let Lena forget she was adopted—but a daughter nonetheless.

And it’s not like Lena _missed_ having someone to criticize everything from her clothes to her career to her weight. It’s… it’s not like Lena needed someone to acknowledge her multiple degrees, her promising work at curing cancer and her successful takeover of a multi-billion-dollar company at _twenty-four_. It’s not like Lena missed her mom, because how could she miss someone who was never there?

And Lillian was cold. Lena _knew_ that. She was cold, calculating and ruthless, reticent until she needed Lena for something: to miss her final exams in order to give Lex a pep talk when he’d failed to make a new prototype work on schedule; to take vacation time in order to attend Lex’s many conferences and speeches once he became the CEO of Luthor Corp; and, more recently, to testify—and to _lie_ —on his behalf. Lena refused the last one, of course—she wouldn’t perjure herself, nor could she stomach the image of her funny, mischievous, caring and _brilliant_ brother so deranged he couldn’t recognize her, spitting hate in her direction for abandoning him and his cause.

Kara is, of course, Lena’s stalwart companion in her misery. She softly reminds Lena to eat, to rest and to shower when she’s inundated with work. She pushes Lena to focus on good things—a movie about aliens and linguistics that’s just come out, preparing for a gala for the Luthor Children’s Hospital, and of course Thanksgiving, which Kara insists Lena cook for.

Lena had forgotten what it was like to have someone entirely on her side until Kara serendipitously came into her life. Kara’s words and actions are refreshingly genuine and free of ulterior motives. Lena can _trust_ her. Her appreciation is quick and candid. Kara is present. Kara is kind. Kara is supportive. Lena wants to believe that her candor means that there are no mind games to play and no tricks to work through, even though she can’t shake the feeling Kara is hiding something. Because—because what could she possibly have to hide from Lena?

Despite all the questions, despite the missing details and obvious half-truths, Lena can’t bring herself to be angry. Just… just hurt. Hurt because Lena’s always been honest with Kara. Nothing but supportive. It stings, that Kara doesn’t trust her. Even if she supposes she can understand that—she’s used to being kept at arm’s length, after all. But, despite it all, she hopes that maybe one day Kara will trust Lena enough to tell her the truth. The full truth.

And, sure, she’s going to eventually leave Lena—if they could ever figure out how to locate and contact a person who according to her latest round of investigations doesn’t exist in any records—but for now Kara’s the most stable and healthy relationship in Lena’s life. A _ghost_ is her best friend, someone who no one else can see or hear, someone that Lena can’t even prove _exists_ , even though her little tests seem to show Lena’s not hallucinating, at the very least. But, well. Kara’s _there_ for her. Has saved her life twice. Gives her someone to come home to. Someone nonjudgmental and with no ulterior motives to talk to. She’s _there_. Lena is loathe to mess it up, although her dependency terrifies her.

Kara always seems to know just when to chime up and tell Lena how much she likes her, believes in her and values their friendship. Sometimes, when Lena’s self-loathing is closing in, heavy and dangerous, inking its way into her thoughts to consume her, making her wallow in self-pity, she’d catch a flash of a bright smile before Kara would tell her she’d seen more coverage of L-Corp on the news that day and how _impressed_ she was with everything Lena was doing, her words running together in her excitement. And, well. Sometimes Lena needs to hear that.

Kara feels too good to be true. She promises Lena that she’ll be there for her, as long as she can be, and that she’ll _always_ be proud of her. And although Lena is scared to believe her—is haunted by the idea of Kara’s words twisting once she realized Lena’s true nature—she can't help but trust her friend's earnest sincerity. She... she wants it to be real, too badly 

And, truly, she is grateful for Kara’s support. Having to deal with her mother, even by proxy of her lawyers while she tries to access her records, isn’t as daunting with Kara there. Kara winds up being Lena’s strength whenever she doubts her own. And in return, Lena supposes, she can be her connection to the world, and even her friend. _Her_ best friend, if Lena lets herself hope, because Kara’s certainly hers. The world is a better place with Kara around. And, although the idea terrifies her more than even her mother’s malevolent return, Lena knows she loves her. She loves Kara. She can’t tell her this, of course—Lena’s love is a dangerous, destructive thing, and the last thing she wants to do is make Kara uncomfortable or—or feel like she’s trying to tie her down. But it’s true. Lena loves her with an intensity and immediacy that makes her feel like she’s growing roots and flying at the same time.

* * *

“Wait— _how_ many eggs do I need?” Lena pauses, peering into the bowl in front of her. Four whole egg yolks rest at the bottom. She’d punctured the fifth one and it was slowly bleeding orange into the surrounding egg whites.

“At _least_ a dozen,” Kara answers, kicking her legs out. She’s sitting on the counter next to Lena’s high-end-but-never-used stand mixer, and as she swings her legs her calves dip into the shelves beneath her. Lena tries not to think about Kara’s ghostly feet near her pots and pans.

“A _dozen_?” Lena asks incredulously, setting her sixth egg down on the counter in disbelief. “For a _pie_?”

“Not just any pie!” Kara argues. “ _Chocolate pecan pie_.”

“A dozen eggs for _one pie_?!”

“I think?” Kara’s voice is tinged with insecurity. “That’s how Eliza always made it. Or maybe she doubled it. It was kind of a big pie...”

 _Eliza_. Kara’s foster mom, and one of the nicest people on the planet, according to her. It was impossible to get Kara to say anything more than a generic sentence or two about her birth parents—her mom was a judge, sort of, and her dad was a scientist and inventor like Lena, _sort of_. Kara’s never actually told Lena what happened to them, specifically. And although Kara won’t clarify, Lena has come to understand that they made a decision that ensured Kara would live while they died. They sacrificed themselves so that Kara could go on to do “extraordinary things”. But the fact they left Kara alone, as a _child_ , with an impossible and (she suspects) romanticized legacy to shoulder isn’t lost on Lena. She won’t touch Kara’s idolization of her dead family—it’s not her place. Especially when she still struggles to feel anything but desperate love for her dad and the tender concept of her birth parents.

And it’s not like Lena doesn’t understand wanting to keep things vague, not wanting to dredge up past hurts or wake fitfully sleeping beasts. But she’s at least _subtle_ about it. Kara clumsily dodges Lena’s questions about what actually happened to her parents with tactless changes in subject or an excuse to go on a patrol of the building. It makes it more difficult for Lena to disregard the sinking, sickly feeling deep in her gut that Kara’s _hiding_ something from her, for some reason.

Eliza, though? Kara has endless stories about her, from trips taken around the world to mother-daughter spa dates to lo mein eaten straight from the container while they rested their hips against the kitchen counter and gossiped about the boys that Kara liked.

And, apparently, Eliza is a master pie maker. Her chocolate pecan pie was apparently the ‘best in the _whole_ galaxy, Lena!’ and Kara was insistent that Lena enjoy some for Thanksgiving, even if she couldn’t have any herself.

“Does Eliza make enough pie for an army, too?” Lena teases, cracking the sixth egg into the bowl and tossing the shells into the trash. “I guess I’ll halve it.”

“No…” Kara pouts, a vague expression that Lena finds adorable even when she can barely make it out before Kara’s image fades away from her mind once again. “Just me ‘n Alex ‘n her.”

Lena sighs. “How much brown sugar?”

“Four cups!” Kara gestures to the box of brown sugar on the black granite island, purchased especially for the occasion. “At least.”

“You can’t be serious,” Lena gripes, grabbing the box and a measuring cup. “I’m _one_ person, Kara.”

“It’s my very favorite,” Kara feigns hurt. “Eliza always made a lot because I, um… had a really big appetite. And it’s the _best_ —”

“In the entire galaxy. You’ve mentioned,” Lena pauses to smile up at Kara before packing two cups of sugar and dropping them into the mixing bowl with a _plop_. She licks the heel of her palm. “I’ve heard there are quite a few restaurants on Route 66 with pictures of your face on the wall.”

Kara snorts. “Yeah, well. Alex insisted we drive her all the way to National City for college, and road trips make me hungry!”

“Plus what sixteen-year-old girl doesn’t like to eat a five pound burger and then ask for a sundae for dessert?” Lena rolls her eyes and lowers the whisk attachment. She locks the mixer into place and then flicks it on, gently scraping the bowl with her rubber spatula.

“Let me guess,” Lena says over the hum of the mixer. “I need to add a pound of butter now.”

“Take this seriously, Lena!” Kara admonishes. “This is _serious_.”

“I don’t even _like_ pi—oh, no, the pecans are burning!” Lena flicks the mixer off and drops the spatula with a slick _splat_ against the counter, turning to face the stovetop where a large frying pan of pecans are starting to char. “ _Shit_.”

“Oh no…” Kara gasps. Lena flinches, dumping the pecans into the garbage with a frustrated tap.

“I’m not a baker, Kara,” she snaps, wiping out the pan with a paper towel and hissing when she accidentally touches the hot metal. She drops it back onto the burner.

“Neither am I,” Kara admits. She reaches out and slides her freezing hands through Lena’s until she turns them, palms up, to show Kara that she’s uninjured. “I usually bake when I’m sad and it’s _bad_. I think my oven needed to be recalibrated.” Satisfied, Kara pulls her hands back.

Lena shudders in relief and grabs the backup bag of nuts. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the feeling of Kara phasing through her, ice cold, almost damp and very eerie.

“Remind me to stir them this time,” Lena says, gently pouring the pecans into the pan.

“I will,” Kara says gravely. And she does. The rest of the baking process goes smoothly: Lena whisks the eggs and sugar with corn syrup, half a bottle of vanilla extract and a bit of salt, before folding in the toasted nuts and an entire bag of chocolate chips. Then she dishes the mixture into the pre-made pie crusts. Thankfully, she bought extras.

* * *

Lena sets two pies in the fridge to give to her favorite assistants, Jess and Hector, at work on Monday. She freezes three quarters of the remaining pie, although she enjoys the forkful she sneaks from one of the two slices she leaves out. Kara’s right—chocolate pecan pie is _good_. Would be better with some bourbon in it, certainly, but it’s a satisfying dessert as-is.

Then she sets to work cooking the rest of her meal: a cruelty-free cornish game hen, roasted root vegetables and flash-cooked garlic green beans. And, of course, a bottle of French Malbec.

The sight of the game hen sends Kara into hysterics. “Honey, I shrunk the turkey!” She cries, hovering a foot off the ground, her legs curling up beneath her as she laughs. “What _is_ that?”

“A cornish game hen,” Lena says defensively, setting it on her plastic cutting board. “It’s the perfect size.”

“For what, a picnic for ants?” Kara pauses, caught up in her own terrible jokes. “Hah, s-sorry, oh man, w-why not just make a turkey and have some leftovers?”

“Have you _seen_ a turkey, Kara? They’re huge! I believe I’ve mentioned that I’m _one_ person.”

“A chicken, then.”

“The hen tastes different. Gamier. More complex. Plus it’s free-range!”

“Oh my god,” Kara laments with an indelicate snort, floating down to lie on Lena’s kitchen floor, her body still shaking with quiet laughter from the corner of Lena’s eyes. “My friend is a _snob_.”

“Your friend has impeccable and refined taste,” Lena counters, flattening a garlic clove with her knife so she can easily pry it from its papery skin.

“Snoooob.” Kara reiterates, reaching out to trail her ghostly fingers along Lena’s calf, making her shudder and throw down her knife with a curse.

“Were you always this annoying?” Lena rolls her eyes and kicks her foot in Kara’s direction, feeling it pass through an unnaturally cold patch of air at the same time Kara squeals and shifts away. Good. Lena hopes she got her in the face. She catches a flash of Kara flailing briefly before straightening up to stand beside her at the cutting board. “Or is it a ghost thing?”

“Definitely a ghost thing,” Kara says eventually, only after Lena ignores her pointed glare. “Although Alex might disagree. But big sisters don’t count.”

She’s silent as Lena chops the garlic and then some fresh herbs, mixing them into a stick of softened butter that she’ll use to coat the hen.

Somewhere between putting the hen in the oven and peeling a parsnip, Lena notices Kara float away through her balcony door without so much as a ‘goodbye’. Lena tries not to be hurt as she finishes up. It was ludicrous to expect her to spend the entire afternoon cooking with her, after all. She probably was going to save the day or something, stopping a drug deal or a bodega robbery.

Lena looks for Kara when she steps out on the balcony an hour later, carrying her plate and glass, with the half-full wine bottle tucked under her arm. She sets them on the little mosaic table surrounded by a collection of potted plants. Kara’s not in her usual spot next to Lena’s chair, nearly hidden between a small bamboo palm and a fern.

It takes Lena a moment to locate her because she’s so still, hovering just off the edge of her balcony, facing east and away from the setting sun.

“Where’d you go earlier?” Lena calls out, laying a napkin with embroidered turkeys that Kara had insisted she buy over her lap. “Are you okay? Did you save the day?”

Lena takes a delicate bite of hen while Kara slides up next to her, silent and somber. Lena shivers at the sudden chill as the air around them congeals, heavy with Kara’s sorrow.

“I can’t hear Alex’s heartbeat,” Kara says. Her voice is like Lena’s never heard it before, holding more than a lifetime’s worth of loss and loneliness. She sounds hollow. Unlike herself, usually so vibrant and full of life, even after her own death.

“I-I flew to Midvale,” Kara confesses. “I thought—I thought she'd be there. If we didn’t eat Thanksgiving at my house, we would go back to Eliza’s. But-but Alex wasn’t there, and Eliza wasn’t even making dinner. She’s not celebrating Thanksgiving, Lena. _Thanksgiving_.”

“I’ve eaten plenty of holiday dinners alone at my desk. It’s not the end of the world,” Lena says, and she winces for her insensitivity when Kara doesn’t even turn her head to face her. “Sorry. Um. How’d… how’d Eliza look?”

“I only caught a glimpse through the window,” Kara admits. Her hands flutter like falling leaves in Lena’s peripheral vision as she twists them together. “She looked… old.”

“Oh.” Lena mumbles. She takes a bite of roasted carrot, chews carefully, swallows. Needs more salt.

“What were Thanksgivings like for you?” Kara finally asks. “I, um, I didn’t grow up celebrating Thanksgiving, but the Danvers always made it so nice and exciting. So it’s my favorite holiday. They… they _know_ that.”

“You’re not American?” Lena questions, surprised. It’s the first new thing Kara’s mentioned about her origins in weeks.

“Not originally,” Kara laughs self-consciously. “But I’m serious: what did your family do for Thanksgiving?”

“Well,” Lena flushes from the wine and the memories. “When I was little, my dad—Lionel—would come pick me up from boarding school on Wednesday morning. He’d take me to the city and buy me three new dresses: for that afternoon, for Thanksgiving day and for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“That’s nice,” Kara rests her head in her hand, and when she smiles it almost looks real.

“They were itchy,” Lena wrinkles her nose. “But then we’d get an ice-cream sundae we could never finish, and then we’d go to the theater district to see _Annie_.”

“That movie always made me cry,” Kara says.

“Most movies do,” Lena reminds her, relieved to see Kara’s lips twitch up for a short moment. “But, uh. I don’t blame you. I could definitely… relate.”

“What would you do next?”

“We’d go back to the Luthor mansion right outside Metropolis,” Lena says. “Lex was there, all full of himself from starting college two years early. I’d spend all Thursday tinkering in the lab with him. I felt so special to be allowed in—I mean, what teenage boy _wants_ to spend time with his little sister? He was always so eager to show me what he was learning because unlike his, and I quote, ‘asinine, myopic and unimaginative classmates,’ I ‘got it.’”

It’s the first kind thing Lena’s said about Lex in years. She’s spent so much time talking about him—defending him for a short while before denouncing him with vitriol—that she’s forgotten how warm and loved she felt those afternoons spent inventing with Lex, glowing under his praise. It _hurts_ to remember what it felt like to be standing over a small robot spinning circles in the garage, a bulky controller in her little fist, while her accomplished and genius big brother ruffled her hair and told her how smart she is. Tears prick behind Lena’s eyes, and she distracts herself with a large swallow of wine to wash away the sudden heartbreak crushing her chest. It sours in her mouth, but she forces herself to swallow.

“But that was… before.” Lena goes to take another bite of her dinner but lets it fall back on her plate. “I never thought I’d miss the stiff, ceremonious Thanksgiving dinners once my dad passed and my family stopped pretending to be one in anything by name.”

Kara’s hand covers Lena’s and she pulls away, uncomfortable with the iciness of her fingers and with her pity.

“We didn’t celebrate the first Thanksgiving after Jeremiah died,” Kara says. “We were still mourning. I think Eliza might have tried to cook? I-I have trouble remembering what happened sometimes.”

“Oh,” Lena mumbles, unsure of what to say. They spend the rest of the evening in thoughtful silence. Lena picks at her suddenly tasteless dinner before giving up, instead savoring the last of her wine while she watches the sunset. Kara drifts out beyond the balcony, floating briefly up into the air, her gaze fixed upon the sky. Lena suspects she must be listening for her sister’s heartbeat again.

Lena is all-too-familiar with loss, but it doesn’t touch the depths of Kara’s. Kara’s grief is utterly different than Lena’s—she lost her birth parents when she was old enough to understand and remember, and she died herself without getting to say goodbye to her loved ones. She… she _has_ loved ones. And she feels things so, so deeply, in a way Lena can’t ever remember matching the intensity of, because her own emotions are kept safely tied down and buried, convoluted and denied to protect her from more pain. Kara might be well-practiced at hiding her grief, but she’s not a Luthor about it—Lena can see where it slips through, exposing a well of hurt masked by her sunny disposition. And, God, if Kara can be cheery and hopeful after all she’s been through—Lena doesn’t have an excuse for brooding.

Kara manages to meet each day with a smile. And maybe it’s because she’s a figment of Lena’s imagination. Because, really: who could lose her birth parents, her foster father, and then her _life_ and still hold hope inside her? Maybe… maybe it was her sister who was helping Kara hold on. After all, the other loses in her life are finite. She can have resolution with Alex.

Lena imagines what it would have been like for her to lose Lex under different circumstances. The old Lex. _Her_ Lex. Her big brother, who loved her from the first moment he met her, who read to her and built robots with her and never, ever complained that a lost little girl followed him around, practically glued to his leg, so excited to finally have answers to every question her tiny heart desired that she asked them in a constant, overeager, unending stream. Even once they didn’t live under the same roof, they were close: he took time away from his studies to send her puzzles and paradoxes to crack while she was bored and lonely in boarding school, and always made sure to see her when he could. And that’s the brother Lena so desperately wanted to remember. Not the deranged, paranoid maniac who'd screamed that she was an alien parasite impersonating his precious sister because the _real_ Lena Luthor would never say no to him when she went to plead with him one last time. Not the vacant zombie she’d visited in prison once. Not the puppetmaster who’d made his once-beloved sister the new target of his vengeance.

Her grief at losing her dad was mixed, too. Lionel had always loved Lena enough for two parents, even though her pleading wasn’t enough to get him to even flirt with sobriety. But despite his clear love for her during the moments when he would visit, his absence from Lena’s life was his own doing. And Lex’s absence from her life was in part their father’s fault. Lionel’s impossible and ever-changing standards made Lena tenacious and calculating, but minus the favoritism, his harsh criticisms had wound up fueling Lex's self-hatred for years after his death.

And he was so, so far from perfect. Unpredictable as a late-summer thunderstorm, who would yell and then crawl back, hours later, to apologize with a lavish gift and another set of promises he'd inevitably break. Hardworking to the point of ignoring or forgetting his children for days at a time, but then he’d take Lena to her favorite Japanese restaurant to make up for not being around to help her with her school project like he’d promised. Lionel had watched her graduation from MIT via satellite because he was in the hospital dying of pancreatitis, liver failure and Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome—the ultimate legacies of his lifelong alcohol abuse. He’d lovingly given Lena her first set of electric circuit toys for her sixth birthday and then, much later, a loan to help fund her startup straight out of college, only weeks before he died.

The lights of National City are too bright for stars, but the street lights and reflective glass of the city light up the darkness with a similar sense of awe. Lena pushes back from her chair and goes to stand against her balcony, letting her hands dangle off the edge while she rests against her forearms.

Kara materializes next to her, a cool breeze that makes Lena’s arm hairs prickle.

“I miss Alex,” she whispers. “I miss her every day, but—but today it’s worse.”

“The holidays do that to people,” Lena says. After a few moments of silence, interspersed with a few sniffles from Kara, she adds: “Tell me about her?”

Kara straightens up beside her, always eager to share another story about Alex.

“Did I tell you about the popcorn maker?” Kara asks, and Lena laughs.

“Yes.”

“And my treasure box?”

“Your _what_?”

Kara giggles bashfully. “When I was in middle school, I had… control issues.”

Lena looks at her incredulously. She can’t imagine Kara—sweet, good-natured Kara—lashing out like Lex did.

“It was my prized possession.” Kara’s voice is light and cheerful. “It was just a little toy box. Alex got it for me for Hanukkah, and she filled it with Rubik’s Cubes and Beanie Babies and silly putty and thread to make friendship bracelets. Anything I could possibly want to fidget with. I was always collecting things for it, too. Pretty rocks and shells and souvenirs from museum gift shops.”

“That’s really sweet, Kara,” Lena says. “She loves you a lot.”

“Well, she didn’t _always_ ,” Kara laughs. “She… hated how I ruined her routines and took away her parent’s attention and embarrassed her in front of her friends. But, well, what fifteen-year-old reacts well to a sudden little sister? Oh—I guess Lex did, didn’t he?”

“It was different,” Lena promises, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from going there. She’s thought enough about Lex today. “What changed?”

Kara thinks for a moment. “I think I just wore her down, honestly. I thought she was the coolest and wanted to be just like her. One of the first things in English I learned was to say ‘just like Alex’ and I said it all the time. I think she liked that. She wanted me to be _cool_. She wanted me to be like her.”

Lena’s chest warms. That’s… cute. She hadn’t heard that before.

“I was also,” Kara laughs, “high-energy when I first arrived—first came to live with the Danvers. Eliza and Jeremiah did what they could, but they were working. They didn't have time to make sure I was always busy. They weren’t my peers. But Alex, Alex was always with me. She’d get up early on Saturdays to take me to museums, even though she wanted to sleep in. She'd walk with me after dark to make sure I had company because I couldn't sit still. She'd read me my homework while I bounced on a mini trampoline. She even let me braid her hair when I was sad. She, ha, she _totally_ hated the braids, but she'd always sit still so I had something for my hands to do.”

“That was kind of her,” Lena adds, twisting her fingers together. She’d always been the one accommodating Lex.

“She’s the best,” Kara answers with conviction. “The _best_. You know she took ballet and yoga with me for years? I needed to, um, to figure out where my body was, but I couldn’t handle the classes alone. So she came with me.”

“I hope you have a picture of her in a tutu,” Lena says dryly. She’s heard about what a tomboy Alex was.

“I do! Or. I did. Um.” Kara’s voice flips from joyful to sad in an instant, and Lena winces.

“Tell me more about her?” Lena asks, hoping to distract Kara. It works: Lena sees a bright smile flash across Kara’s face out of the corner of her eye.

“She was a surfer!” Kara gushes. “A good one. And she has a motorcycle! She taught me how to ride when I turned sixteen, and it felt just like flying. Like I’d imagine flying felt like. Which I didn’t know then. But I know now, because, um. I’m a ghost.”

“She sounds like the coolest,” Lena hums, turning to face her balcony door. She can see herself reflected back, lounging against the balcony, in a loose, plum-colored shirt and comfortable pants, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. In the glass, she’s alone; there’s no one beside her, even though she can see Kara turn to look at the door in her peripheral vision. “I promise we’re going to find her soon.”  

Kara tilts her head so that it’s over Lena’s shoulder. “I know. I trust you.”

And even with the chill against the crook of her neck, Lena burns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my beta Alex!

After a while, a picture of Lena gets snagged by the tabloids: a blown-up cell phone picture of herself seated alone at a table, wearing oversized sunglasses and laughing over a lunch of white tea kombucha and salad, as if reacting to a joke. Her head is thrown back, her mouth is open and a stabbed forkful of spring mix is held loosely in her hand. Her apparently-hilarious lunch companion? An empty chair pulled slightly away from the table as if for an imaginary friend. An insulting-yet-professional caption asks whether the youngest Luthor is mature enough to revive her brother's company. A significantly less upstanding publication questions whether she’s already lost her mind.

What the cameras hadn’t captured, of course, was Kara sitting next to Lena, bent almost double as she clutched her stomach, laughing so hard she’d snorted.

“This is embarrassing,” Lena sighs, dropping her tablet to the table with a worrying _thunk_. Kara looks down at the picture, a weight settling uncomfortably in her stomach. It's still strange, even after all this time, to see such undeniable evidence of her non-existence. The chair beside Lena is clearly, blatantly, undeniably empty. But Kara was there—she'd been there!

“Seriously!” Lena steps too close to Kara in her annoyance and shivers. “I look like a _buffoon_ , sitting there alone. What were we even laughing about?”

“The broccoli joke,” Kara reminds her, fighting back a smile as she remembers the conversation from that day. “S-sorry,” she breathes out after a rather unsympathetic snort. “I don’t think you need to worry about this, though. It’ll blow over.”

Lena sighs again, but Kara catches the way her lips curl up just slightly in amusement. Trying to be secretive about it, obviously, but Kara knows her too well for that. After a moment, Lena’s smile falls away into a look of concentration, and she lowers her head, her attention turned back to the tablet. She picks it back up and opens up a blueprint to one of her many early prototypes, this one shaped like a computer mouse with a touch pad. She adds a few quick notes before closing out of the window again.

“Remind me to at least wear my damn Bluetooth next time,” Lena says, tucking her tablet into her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. Turning her attention right back to Kara, as she always does. As if she hadn’t just been in the early stages of creating something _wonderful_. “Now, on to better things. Are you coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it!” Kara says, floating over to the elevator with Lena. They’d been waiting to see _Wicked_ for nearly two

* * *

It’s as they’re walking home from dinner—during which Lena remembered to wear her Bluetooth, _thank you very much_ —that Kara notices all the lights that have been strung up on the boulevard around them.

She turns her head to look at the storefronts as they pass by, which have been set up with fake snow, wreaths and golden bells. Some are oversaturated with Santas and reindeer and elves, while others are full of classy calligraphy that wish a happy holidays to all, even though the decorations only evoke Christmas.

“Aren't they pretty?” Kara asks Lena, pausing under an arch that twinkles like stars. “I’ve always loved the lights.”

Lena stops beside her, squinting up at the lights. Her hand twitches as though she was about to reach out and grab Kara’s hand.

“Yeah,” Lena agrees. “I just can’t believe it’s almost Christmas.”

“It snuck up on us,” Kara says, floating up to inspect the lights above them more closely.

“But _how_?” Lena whispers, turning to analyze the decked-out boulevard. “It’s like Christmas _exploded_ all over the street.”

Kara shrugs, letting herself drift back towards the ground. “Guess we were distracted.”

“Yeah,” Lena says again. They begin walking back to Lena’s condo, pointing out more decorations as they go. One window display features a  deeply unsettling animatronic nutcracker that freaks Kara out, although a huge model village in the window of the neighboring toy store makes her gasp in delight.

“Look!” She cries, pointing through the window at the minuscule train chugging around the fake-snow covered mountain. There’s a tiny town nestled into the valley of the mountain, with houses and stores and a little school. There’s even a miniature post office with a mailbox out front that a gaggle of figurine children are loading letters to Santa into. Little ice skaters on a track are whirling and dipping around a frozen lake, and nearby a horse-drawn carriage the size of a mouse gallops across the mini Main Street. A tiny snowblower sprays faux snow across the scene, sprinkling down on the town in a serene, dappled curtain. Electric lights set on timers flicker across the town, blinking in a soothing pattern that leaves Kara mesmerized.

“Beautiful,” Lena agrees, although she eyes the exposed battery case powering the train warily. “But come on, it’s getting late.”

Lena strips off her red coat as soon as they walk through the door of her condo, throwing it over the back of a chair. Her cheeks are tinged pink from the wind and the cold, and she rushes into the kitchen to prepare herself something warm.  

“I’m surprised,” Lena mentions as she puts the kettle on for tea. “I thought you’d have wanted me to decorate my place for Christmas. You’re always so… enthusiastic.”

“I do like the lights,” Kara says. “I feel like I’m in the stars. But...” She shrugs. She likes Lena’s home just fine without them.

Lena delicately selects a tea bag and lays it in her cup. She waits until the kettle beeps and then pours hot water over it.

“I just,” Lena says as she slides into a chair at her kitchen table, setting her mug in front of her. Kara floats to the seat beside her, which Lena kicks out so that she’s not sitting half-inside the table. After a moment, Lena bites her lower lip, a sudden insecurity in flickering in her eyes. “I just, wanted to say that… if you wanted to do anything for Christmas, I wouldn’t, um, mind...”

“Like what?” Kara asks, resting her chin in her hand. She kicks her legs, suddenly filled with restless energy.

“Oh, um, I don’t know,” Lena mumbles, looking around her increasingly less sparse condo. She and Kara had been going to art galleries and department stores in their spare time, finding items to fill Lena’s home. To make it homey. “String lights? Scented candles? A tree?” 

“That sounds nice,” Kara shrugs again. “I’ve never celebrated Christmas before, so—”

"You’ve _never_ celebrated Christmas?” Lena jerks back, surprised.

“Not really?” Kara mumbles, fiddling with her hands and turning slightly away from Lena’s uncomfortable stare. She never liked feeling _different._  

Her answer’s half a lie, anyway. She sort of celebrated Christmas… once. Her first year with the Danvers had been a crash-course in every Earth custom imaginable. They’d explained Christmas to her, not even three months after she’d arrived, as the stores started filling up with tinsel, inexplicable red and green glass balls with curled wire at the top, and off-putting statuettes of an old man with a long, white beard. She’d half-listened to Jeremiah’s explanation of cultural significance to some humans, itching all the while to go run around outside, and had then gotten increasingly confused as they they tried to explain about a man named _Santa Claus_ who was an integral part of Christmas but absent from the main story. And _then_ Alex had piped up from the corner that Santa was a pagan assimilation, ‘ _actually, dad’_ , and that had prompted another _hour_ of explanations that left Kara even more confused and disinterested. In the end, Alex had given Kara a candy cane with a glint in her eyes and told Kara that it was _candy_ and _really good_ and _go on, try it_. Kara had earnestly bitten off a large chunk, chewed it and screamed as harsh peppermint burned her mouth and eyes, before finally sniffling and declaring that Christmas was the _worst_ day.   

But the Danvers had been determined to go through the motions of celebrating Christmas for her sake, and so Kara made sure to smile every time one of the Danvers looked at her. Proper Kryptonians didn’t smile often, except for expressions of great joy, but it seemed like humans smiled _constantly,_ even when they weren’t happy. And Kara was trying so, so hard not to worry her new foster family. So she’d smiled her way through the stilted Christmas celebrations, and had enjoyed unwrapping presents and eating cookies. But Christmas had as much spiritual meaning to Kara as a regular Wednesday at her school.

“Really? Were your birth pa—" 

“The Danvers are Jewish,” Kara finishes. She was, too, in a way; although she loves Rao with all her might and finds solace that she can see traces of his Light everywhere, Krypton is _gone._ Being Jewish was what came most naturally to her after that, a way to connect to her foster family and feel grounded on her new planet. Many of the holidays were a time for quiet reflection and meditation, and a time for the too loud, too bright world to still. Jewish holidays acknowledge pain, mourn loss and find joy in survival. They gave Kara a medium for her grief, fantastic stories to distract her and, after a while, permission to celebrate her new life despite all she’d been through. Jewish holidays made Kara feel all calm and loved, soaked in quiet joy while she watched the faces of her foster family glow in the flickering candlelight.

“Oh,” Lena says. “Oh! Do you… want to… celebrate… um, it’s Hanukkah, right?”

“What do you normally do for Christmas?” Kara asks instead. Feeling suddenly, for the first time in a while, like a burden. An unwanted guest, lingering too long and keeping Lena from living her life the way she wanted. From living a full life.

“Nothing,” Lena says flatly. “I work, and then I come home.” Her tone is sharp and dangerous, as it usually is when she’s trying to hide a past hurt at the hands of her family.

“Well, what would you _like_ to do?” Kara asks.

“Nothing,” Lena says again. “I was just thinking, um. That… that I'd do something if you wanted to. But, erm. I think… I think it would be nice to light candles? If you want to? Wait, that’s _this_ holiday, right? I don’t know very much..." 

“Yeah,” Kara laughs, flailing her hands a little in excitement. “It is. But can you, um, look up when Hanukkah is this year? It might have already passed...”

* * *

Hanukkah starts late that year, which gives Kara and Lena enough time to buy the necessary supplies. Then, on the first night, Kara watches with a sweet ache in her chest while Lena organizes the glass menorah and candles she’d bought earlier in the week.

“Are you ready?” She asks Kara, holding the unlit _shamash_ , the candle used to light the others, in her right hand.

Kara nods and drifts closer, watching as Lena toys with the wick. “Ready.”

Lena stands in front of the menorah, straight and open, her head tilted slightly upward. She inhales and exhales slowly, and then flicks her lighter on. She lights the shamash and then holds the lit candle aloft for a moment, looking unsure.

Kara looks at her in confusion, meeting her questioning eyes.

“Will you help?” Lena asks, offering her her hand. Kara nods her head and blushes, sliding her hand so that it’s barely touching the back of Lena’s.

Just like her first Hanukkah, where she’d been so eager to help light the candles just like Alex was, but no one was ready to trust her clumsy fingers with a delicate candelabra and open fire quite yet. She’d put her hand gently over Alex’s, so gently they were barely touching, and helped guide her. Just like she is with Lena now.

Once lit, Lena bows her head and begins to chant the blessings, curling her mouth around unfamiliar, memorized sounds.

She must…. She must have practiced, without Kara knowing.

Kara’s voice gives out, barely a whisper while she mouths the words along with Lena’s shaky melody. She’s so touched, her chest aching and her eyes burning, while she hears Lena’s sweet murmurs. She… she _practiced_. So that she could celebrate with Kara.

It’s the first time that Kara’s cried since her death where she didn’t feel hollow and freezing. Instead, she feels fond affection spreading across her chest, warming her. Lena _practiced_. For _her_.

Lena stays with her head bowed, her eyes closed and her face now worry-free. She looks so, so soft as she kindles the Hanukkah light, surrounded by a warm halo that imbues her with flickering gold. Her face is regal, but not harsh, even with the shadows the lights cast across her sensitive face.

How often had Kara imagined sharing her traditions with someone? Someone to light candles with, to tell stories to. Someone who’d take the time to listen and learn, who’d make meaning out of Kara’s traditions for themselves, too.

Nothing about Kara’s life—her death, technically—is what she’d daydreamed about as a teenager, though. _Lena_ is nothing like what she pictured the person closest to her being. The warmth in Kara’s chest spreads down to her fingertips and she aches to draw Lena close to her, even though she’s still intangible. Lena’s _better_. _Perfect._

Kara wipes away some more happy tears. She has so, so many traditions buried. Celebrations and festivals and holy days on Krypton, held in her heart as secret, treasured memories. Maybe… maybe she could tell Lena some of them, without being too specific? She’s not ready to tell her about her origins, but maybe… maybe one day soon.

Kara smiles softly at Lena, who watches the candles burn with a tender expression. _Rao_. Kara’s so blessed to have Lena in her life, even if it will only be for a while longer.

“Did I do okay?” Lena asks shyly, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiles.

“You’re perfect,” Kara assures her. This makes Lena duck her head, hiding behind her hands. Kara beams at her until she lowers them.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Lena mumbles, a blush still staining her cheeks. “For sharing this with me." 

Her sincerity makes the ache in Kara’s chest double.

“No, thank _you_ —” Kara’s voice chokes off and she sniffles. Concerned, Lena comes closer. 

“Are you okay?” She asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kara coughs. “I’m fine. You’ve, um, forgotten a very important step though.” 

Lena blanches. “ _What_? I thought I wrote everything down!” She pulls out her phone to double-check but Kara’s inelegant snort stops her.

“You bought doughnuts!” Kara reminds her, floating to the side of the table. “Food is the _most_ important part of any Jewish holiday, Lena!" 

“You’re a jerk,” Lena informs her, selecting a jelly doughnut and tearing a small piece off with her fingers. “And I think you’re making up _doughnuts_ being a Jewish religious food.”

“They totally are.” Kara nods sagely. Lena scrunches her face, grinning with mirth.

“I like this. Doing this. With you.”

 _Me too_ , Kara thinks as she slides close—but not too close, she’s already antagonized Lena enough for the evening—and listens to the rhythmic pattern of Lena’s heart while they watch the candles burn low.

* * *

The sixth night of Hanukkah starts out like any other. Kara and Lena light the candles and then eat by candlelight before moving to the living room. They’re reading _A Series of Unfortunate Events_ together in preparation for its Netflix launch. Kara reads over Lena’s shoulder, wiggling her fingers through her arm whenever she’s ready for Lena to swipe for the next page. Lena grumbles every time, but she doesn’t ask Kara to stop.

A phone call jolts Kara from the story. It’s a ringtone she doesn’t recognize, something fast-paced and heart-thumping.

“What?” Lena sputters, fumbling for her phone. Her eyebrows shoot up when she sees who’s calling, a surprised smile lighting up her face. “What the _fuck_? It’s nearly 2 a.m. there, why is he calling?!” She laughs, breathless and delighted.

“Who?” Kara asks, but Lena’s already picked up the phone. She sets her tablet aside, about as forgotten as Kara feels, and practically skips away into her bedroom. She falls against the wall next to the door with a _thump_ that Kara can hear from the living room. Kara trails after her, curious. Unsure whether she’s meant to follow, even though she can easily hear Lena’s voice from anywhere in the building.

“Jacky?! I can’t believe it’s you!” Lena’s _beaming,_ wider than Kara’s ever seen. “It’s so good to hear your voice!”

Kara frowns in something that is definitely not jealousy. Definitely. But, it’s just. Lena’s voice doesn’t sound like that around _her_. Lena’s smile isn’t that bright around _her_. But, Kara tells herself, Lena sees her everyday. She can’t _always_ look so wonderfully surprised. Besides, it would be cruel to begrudge Lena even an ounce of happiness after how horrible the past few weeks had been for her. So… nope! Not jealous. Kara’s definitely _not_ jealous! Just the thought is—pfft...

But even as Kara tries to convince herself, Lena’s smile begins to falter. “Wait, wait, slow down, you haven’t even said hello! Oh, um, fine, I guess. It’s been a rough few—” Lena cuts off abruptly, and Kara has to physically hold herself back from listening in to the other side of the call. “Wait, you want me to _what_?” Lena’s hand scrambles to hold onto the doorjamb, her knuckles turning white. “Jack, I can’t just—I have—I know you’re—Jack!”

Kara knits her eyebrows as she watches Lena get increasingly flustered. A blush creeps high on her cheeks, and she grinds her jaw.

“No— _no_ , I can’t just _leave_ , Jack,” she grits out, her previous enthusiasm faded completely away. “I know. I know you are. We were. Yes, and I’m _so_ proud of you. But I can’t just leave. Kar—my company needs me. I have responsibilities here now, Jack.”

Kara twists the fraying threads on the hem of her sweater together while she listens, feeling like an awkward, useless fly on the wall.

“You can’t ask me that!” Lena cries, clutching her phone so tightly the case creaks. “You _know_ why. Fine. Bye. Good luck with everything. Of _course_ I mean th—damnit!”

With a frustrated groan that breaks off into a sob, Lena throws her phone onto her bed. It bounces off and falls onto the floor with a clatter that makes Kara wince sympathetically. Lena barely seems to notice, too busy clenching her jaw and glaring at her pillow.

“Lena?” Kara calls softly as her friend throws herself facedown onto her bed. “Are you okay?”

Lena just groans frustratedly into her blanket.

 _Right_ , Kara thinks. _Obviously she’s not. Good one_. She floats to the edge of Lena’s bed. “Who’s Jack?”

“No one important,” Lena spits, tilting her head just slightly. Not quite looking in Kara’s direction. Her words sound hollow.

“What did Jack want?” Kara tries again. At his name, Lena lifts her head and glares.

“He wanted me to come to his lab. In Metropolis,” Lena says, squeezing the pillow tight between her arms. “Just. Leave everything. Fly over. Smuggle equipment. Come to dinner.”

Kara grits her jaw, the thought of Lena going to dinner with _Jack_ sitting wrong in her stomach. “Why?”

“We used to be part—business partners.” Lena sits up. She picks at her cuticles and worries her lip, her expression soft and wistful. “More than that. We were friends, best friends." 

Kara’s forehead smooths out and her shoulders relax. Lena’s opening up—that’s a good sign. “What happened?”

“We founded a startup together,” Lena says, reaching for Kara for a moment before seeming to remember herself—to remember what Kara is—and letting her hand fall, palm down, back on the bed. “Working out of his aunt’s garage in London. We were going to find a cure for cancer using nanotechnology modified with the patient’s own DNA. You know, kids’ stuff. Just trying to save the world.” Her smile is lopsided and girlish.

Kara whistles. “That’s so cool!” Flashes of something similar briefly come to mind: tiny machines shaped like diamonds scurrying around a dish beneath her father’s microscope while he explained how they could target illness within the body.

“Yeah, well,” Lena rolls her eyes, pulling Kara from her memories. “We couldn’t figure out how to get the ‘bots to organize themselves without swarming in chaos. But, uh, I guess he figured it out—that’s why he called. He thinks he’s made a breakthrough.”

“You don’t look happy,” Kara comments. Lena’s expression is sullen.

“I _am_ happy for him. It’s just… he wants me to come over. Come celebrate,” Lena admits. “To just—drop everything so we can pick up where we left off.”

“Oh,” Kara says, swallowing thickly. “Um, what happened? I mean, why’d you leave?”

Lena opens her mouth, closes it and breathes through her nose before answering. “Lex happened.”

The brief silence that follows is tense, uncomfortable. Finally, Kara says, “And you took over L-Corp?”

“Precisely,” Lena nods. “I needed to—L-Corp is my legacy. It needs me more than Jack or Spheerical Industries do.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Lena sighs. “He can’t understand why I left, why I gave up everything we’d been building together for five years. We’d just hit a groove, and he—he was my everything.”

“Wow,” Kara breaths. “That’s, um, that’s a big statement for a business partner.” She hates herself for saying it, because she just _knows_ what Lena will say next.

“I love him,” Lena shrugs, a bittersweet grin on her face. Kara’s chest burns. “He was my first, you know? First friend, first partner, first person who knew me better than I knew myself and first to stick around despite, well. Despite everything.”

Kara’s heart pangs. “Oh. I s-see.” 

Her voice wavers and she hates how it betrays her jealousy.

“We’ve barely talked since I left. Like… like I’m not important since we’re no longer working together. And, well…” Lena’s smile fades slightly, turns contemplative. “It’s just difficult, to get a glimpse back into a life that some days I struggle to convince myself was worth giving up. I truly think Jack and I could have saved the world, had the timing been better.”

Shoving down whatever _feelings_ were trying to bubble up, Kara blurts out, “W-well, who says you can’t still? He invited you back!” She forces a smile, the wide grin of a very supportive friend whose stomach wasn’t churning unpleasantly with this topic of conversation.  

Lena’s face falls. “But I can’t go back. I can’t just leave. L-Corp needs me. You need me.”

“Oh.” Kara clutches her stomach, her mask of a supportive and good friend slipping away from her all at once. The words _selfish, selfish, selfish_ run through her head, words she’s reminded of every time she thinks of all that Lena’s done for her . “I-I can’t ask you—”

“I’m not waiting for you to ask me,” Lena cuts her off, firm. “Jack’s already shown his true colors. He promised to come to Lex’s trials with me but then forgot all about them when he thought he’d found a way to get around the corrosive battery. I broke things off with him to come here, but I promised him a place high up in L-Corp’s R&D department with triple what he was making if only he’d relocate. But he refused, and that’s when Spheerical Industries was created.” Lena’s voice remains steady, even as her cheeks start to redden, even as she turns away from Kara.

“Oh,” Kara whispers again. Feeling like a bit of a broken record. But her chest was still hot, burning like it had been scoured with cinders.

“I just,” Lena chokes. She rubs her pink, blotchy face. “I miss him, you know? I miss being able to—” Her fingers flex and she buries them in her bedcovers. “I just,” she says, quieter this time. “I just want to know when I’ll be enough for someone.”

Kara’s insides twist. “Lena, what do you mean?”

“Don’t you ever feel like you’re always the one accommodating?” Lena cups one elbow while she cradles the back of her neck, as if physically holding herself together. “You sacrifice _everything,_ and people still choose something else?”

Kara stays silent, chewing her lip as she watches Lena’s tightly-controlled expression falter. Watches the way the rims of her eyes burn red, the way her cheeks twitch, the way her eyebrows pull down in anger and despair, even as she tries to maintain a blank expression, tries to downplay how much Kara’s answer would mean.

But Kara doesn’t really know sacrifice like that. She knows _sacrifice_ , of course—knows it like a scar on the back of her hand. But she doesn’t know it like that, like Lena does, because her sacrifices were never her _choice_. Her parents put her on the pod away from an imploding Krypton, sacrificing her previous life, her family, her planet—her future and everything she’d ever known. Chance, bad luck and the Phantom Zone had sacrificed her new future as Kal-El’s protector by guiding her pod to Earth twenty-four years too late. And then, the humans around her and the very Earth itself sacrificed her normalcy again and again, every single day. What Clark had originally assumed was a legacy of his Kryptonian heritage—his strength, his speed, his abilities—was utterly alien to Kara when she arrived. She’d felt so _wrong_ in her body as her footsteps caused tremors and her sneezes broke tables.

And finally, Kara had sacrificed her life for Alex’s over a year ago, on that humid September night when the plane carrying Alex spiraled out of control. Kara hadn’t expected—she didn’t—if she’d only just—but it didn’t matter now. It was done, and it was useless to wonder what might have happened if she hadn’t tried to land on her feet, had held her head at a slightly different angle. And besides, even the knowledge that she’d die that night wouldn’t have changed what she’d done. Wouldn’t have changed her decision to duck into an alley and run until her feet were treading on air, wouldn’t have stopped herself from racing after the plane and pulling it down into the bay. Even though her sacrifice and death were the furthest from what Kara wanted, Kara would _always_ choose to die if it meant Alex could live. Kara couldn’t exist in a world without her sister in it. 

“Um, what do you mean?” Kara finally asks, scooting forward on Lena’s bed. She watches as Lena’s arm hairs stand on end, affected by her proximity.

It’s the wrong thing to say, and Kara knows it as soon as she speaks.

Lena laughs mirthlessly, sliding off the bed and picking up her phone from the ground, her back turned to Kara. She holds her breath and flips the phone over, breathing out a sigh of relief when she sees it hasn’t shattered.

“It’s just old drama.” Lena waves Kara off. “It shouldn’t matter—it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Kara watches Lena fiddle with her phone case, her earrings, the ends of her hair. Looking anywhere but at Kara.

“Lena?” She calls.

“I’m going to bed,” Lena snaps, looking away and searching through her drawers until she pulls out a pair of pajamas. “You can leave now.”

“What did you mean about choosing anything else?” Kara asks, remaining perched on Lena’s bed.

And, oh, Lena’s eyes _burn_ as she snaps her head around to look at Kara, look through Kara. The muscles in her jaw ripple.

“I _mean_ ,” Lena hisses. “I’ve never been enough.”

Rao, the hostility rolling off of Lena was about enough to knock Kara over.

“For whom?” Kara winces as Lena’s glower intensifies.

“For _anyone_ ,” she spits. “I wasn’t enough for Jack! For my mother! For my dad! Not even for Lex!”

Kara’s chest aches, and her arms burn with the want to offer comfort. She reaches for Lena, tries to pull her in the way Alex had always done for her, but Lena shudders away from her cool touch.

“Stop—just don’t. Look, I _begged_ ,” Lena whispers, her voice harsh, “for Lex to put his _genius_ somewhere besides killing Superman. For my dad to stop drinking. For my mother to be proud of me. For Jack to stay with me. I give _everything_ , Kara. I give and I give until I’ve got nothing left. I’m so tired. And what did I get to show for it? To be alone forever?”

“You’re not alone,” Kara protests. _You have me_.

“Don’t,” Lena hisses, staring Kara down with cold eyes. “Don’t pretend that I’m not a relationship of convenience to you. Don’t pretend that if there was anybody—literally _anybody_ else—you wouldn’t be with them instead. Just admit that that’s all this is, Kara: you _need_ me to help you find your sister. And then what? You’re going to pass on, and I’m going to be alone again. With one more person who chose something else.”

Kara opens her mouth to reply, to argue with Lena that _no,_ she’s _not_ a relationship of convenience, that she’s her friend, that she—she _loves_ her, but her voice catches in her throat. Her eyes sting, and before she can even think to stop it Kara feels cold, cold tears running down her cheeks, catching in the corners of her mouth and making her taste salt. Embarrassed, she shuffles away from Lena part-way into the wall and covers her face with her hands. She's stricken, gutted in the way only harsh words can cut her. The mantra in her head grows louder: _selfish, selfish, selfish_. Because, Rao, Lena is right. She’s _right_. She's Kara’s lifeline, her only company outside of the stars that call to her late at night and her only chance to move on from this half-existence. And though Kara has truly grown to adore Lena—her generosity, her wit, her intelligence—the pleas of her family draw her skyward.

And so she cries, overwhelmed and guilty.

Lena panics beside her. “Oh, shit, no, don't cry,” she pleads, her eyebrows drawn together and a hand half-reached towards Kara, her palm outstretched. “I didn’t mean—that was selfish of me to say. I’m sorry.”

Kara wipes her face, mortified at her tears. She sniffles and Lena winces at the sound.

“It was wrong of me to lash out,” Lena says, her eyes flickering. “It’s just—I guess Jack’s call brought up a lot of feelings I didn’t realize I was harboring.”

“No, d-don’t apologize. I… _I’m_ sorry,” Kara mutters, sliding forward so that she’s not stuck in the wall anymore and curling up into herself. Her lips tremble as she tries to work up the courage to look Lena in the eye. “You’re right,” she continues, tapping into feelings that are only materializing as she voices them. “I... need your help to find my sister. And—and you’re the only one who can help me. To be with my family again. And I’m grateful for it.”

Lena’s smile is small, timid.

“But I _do_ like you,” Kara continues, her voice still shaking. “I’m really grateful we met a-and that I get to spend time with you. Not just ‘cause you’re helping me.”

Lena blushes. A shy, closed-lip smile stretches across her face.

“Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if we met under different circumstances?” Lena asks. Her face is open, earnest.  

“I like to think we’d have been friends,” Kara says.

And it almost doesn’t feel like a lie. A Luthor and an alien—was there really any universe where they could have been friends? 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't do this without the help of my brilliant betas, Alex (blatant_sock_account) and Kal (MsSirEy).

“Lenaaaa,” Kara pouts, even though it’s somewhat less effective when Lena can’t really see her face. “Which square is this?”  
  
Lena snorts. “I can’t see where you’re pointing, Kara. Besides, I already wrote names in all the corners just for you.”  
  
“Ugh!” Kara groans, dropping her head onto the chessboard. She feels her forehead pass through some of the pieces on her way down, and she’s pretty sure she sinks a couple of inches into the glossy white plastic table. “You’ve got, like, the worst handwriting in the whole world, Lena! Even worse than Alex’s.”  
  
Lena ignores her dramatics, smiling down in Kara’s general direction. “I’ll have you know I took calligraphy lessons as a child. One of my favorite lessons to forget, in fact. It’s not my fault you never learned how to read cursive.”  
  
“Fine! Lemme just—” Kara squints down at the chessboard, trying to make out the small scribble in the corner of each tile, ignoring Lena’s jibe about cursive. She could _totally_ read that antiquated form of writing that no one used anymore because they had computers and phones now. “Okay! Petite bishop to F6.”  
  
The chess games between them are admittedly somewhat difficult to orchestrate, but Kara likes the challenge. She likes chess. It’s one of the few games she can actually participate in by directing Lena to move her pieces for her. Besides, chess was Lena’s favorite game—she’d told her so. So losing badly— _mortifyingly_ —the first several times they played as she’d tried to get the hang of the rules was all worth it to see the wide, unfettered smile break across Lena’s face as she cornered Kara’s king for the upteenth time. Lena’s combined two or three chess sets, too, to more easily distinguish between matching pieces. And each of Kara’s pawns has a neat dollop of nail polish in different shades resting on top of their heads. Their little hats, as Kara calls them. She’s come up with a lot of cute and fun chess nicknames that Lena absolutely refuses to adopt.  
  
“Hm,” Lena says, considering Kara’s options. “Can I give you some advice?”  
   
Kara nods. “Mmhmm, please!”

“If you move your pony—argh,” Lena cuts herself off briefly, her cheeks pink. “If you move your _knight_ over to B5 like this, you’d put pressure on me to move my queen from D7 there to take your rook, and then were I to do that you could move your other bishop from F1 to take my queen. It’s good to try to think a few moves ahead like that, see?”  
  
“Mmhmm,” Kara leans back with a frown as she thinks about her move. She’s still a novice, after all. Jeremiah had tried to teach her back when she’d first come to live with the Danvers, but it had been too humiliating the way she kept crushing chess pieces between her fingers. And besides, the game reminded her of one she’d played as a child, losing each and every match against her father in between her lessons. She’d beat him once, and then a few days later, Krypton had—

“No,” Kara says definitively, shaking away the memories. “‘Lil bishop to F6. Thanks though.”  
  
“Anytime,” Lena says with a smile. A smile that quickly fades over the course of the next three turns.  
  
“Bodacious rook to G7!” Kara bounces in place just slightly.  
  
Several emotions flit across Lena’s face: shock, betrayal, anger and, finally, competitive determination. “I don’t believe this—how did I not see that coming?”  
  
“Checkmate! Right? Right, checkmate!”  
  
“Let’s play another match,” Lena demands. “We _have_ to. This was a fluke!”  
  
And Kara agrees happily. After all, she likes chess.

Especially when she wins the next three games. 

She would have won the fourth as well, but Lena had flipped the board over before sniffing haughtily and heading to bed without another word.

But Kara knows she’s not really upset—the corners of her mouth had turned up and her eyes had crinkled when she smiled over her shoulder at Kara before shutting her bedroom door. If there was any doubt that Lena’s upset wasn’t just theatrics, it’s cleared when she opens the door a crack and sticks her head out. 

“That was fun,” she says. “You were holding out on me, Kara! Let’s play again tomorrow? I need to calm down first, but then I’ll be ready—you won’t know what hit you!”

* * *

 

“Okay, but like, if you pre-order a sandwich, Hector can go pick it up for you after your meeting at 11:30, and then you can eat it on your way to the press conference!” Kara argues as Lena selects a bland protein bar from the box she keeps in her kitchen cabinet. For the occasional lunch-on-the-go. Just for unusually busy days, she swears, but Kara knows that unless Lena is meeting someone for lunch, she’d rather save the time and wolf down a tasteless energy bar before launching into her next project.

It’s a habit Kara’s determined to break.

“I can’t just eat on my way to a press conference!” Lena argues, chewing on her lip while she flips up the label to read the ingredients on a bar with a light blue wrapper. “What if I get something on my shirt?”

“My old boss managed just fine,” Kara says, making a light gagging noise as Lena slips the bar into her oversized purse. “And she was the queen of all media. The paparazzi were always trying to embarrass her, and _she_ still managed to eat lunch every day.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Well, sorry I’m not as flawless as Cat Grant.”

Kara sighs. “The sandwich place you really like just added pesto,” she says, keeping her tone optimistic. “Please order something?”

Lena unplugs her phone and then pauses, looking at Kara with clear, steady eyes. “Does it matter that much to you?”

“Yes!”

“Fine,” Lena sighs in defeat. “I’ll text Hector now.”

It’s when she flips over her phone to text her assistant that Kara catches sight of the date. It bowls into her, flipping her stomach and sending an icy shiver through her body.

Today’s her Earth birthday. The anniversary of the day she’d crash-landed on Earth.

How… how could it have crept up on her like that?

She’d been on Earth thirteen years. The same amount of time she’d been on Krypton. And she was wholly unprepared to deal with that.

“I-I’m sorry, Lena,” Kara says, backing away from the door. “I just realized something. I can’t come with you today.”

Lena’s eyebrows draw together. She carefully steps over towards Kara, concerned. “Is everything okay? Do you need me to stay in?”

“No!” Kara winces at the volume of her voice, at Lena’s awkward step back. “No, that’s okay. Um, and thank you for being concerned about me. Really. I just… I need to be alone today.”

“Oh,” Lena says. She squints, clearly hesitant. “Is there anything I can do? Do you need anything?”

“No, that’s okay! You, um, you should go! You have that nine o’clock meeting with Mr. Stone about cybernetics, remember? He flew in all the way from Seattle.”

“True…” Lena picks up her purse and checks her lipstick in the mirror, obviously stalling. “Please stop by if you can? Or just be here at six when I get back. Do you want me to put the heat on?”

“No, no, that’s okay! You don’t want to be late.” Kara ushers Lena out of the door with a wave of her hands and collapses against the doorframe just after Lena leaves with a final worried glance.

Kara lets herself sink partially into the wall with a muffled gasp. Thirteen years. She’d been on Earth for _thirteen years_. It had been thirteen years since she hugged her mom, since she’d looked into her dad’s eyes, since she’d even seen her home. Thirteen years since she’d met Alex, since Eliza had first held her, since Jeremiah had taught her how to ride a bike. 

Could she even count her time on Earth as thirteen years when she’d been dead for nearly two of them?

But it—it doesn’t matter, Kara tells herself. She’ll be home soon enough, anyway. This couldn’t be—it _won’t_ be the rest of her life. They’re going to find Alex eventually. And then she’ll go home.

Kara doesn’t move from her spot half-inside the wall next to the front door, curled around herself with her forehead pressed against her knees. She doesn’t cry—feels like she can’t, somehow—but her eyes burn anyway, and her throat closes off. Instead, she rocks silently in place, whimpering, missing everything she’s lost. Both that one day thirteen years ago, and… and now, too.

Because it isn’t _really_ her Earth birthday without Alex there. Without Alex there to spend the day with her, to draw Kara out of her own thoughts with silly presents meant to make her laugh and enough food to feed a small army. Alex, who would nudge Kara’s knees with her own until she smiled and at would tease her about the one time she'd tried to blow out her birthday candles and wound up accidentally blowing the cake into several pieces splattered across the table. Or the time she blew so hard it froze the cake, prompting her next three cakes to be made of ice-cream with frosting that turned her mouth blue for hours. Alex, who reminded Kara of all the reasons this day was a reason to _celebrate_ as well as mourn. Kara’s loneliness compounds her grief and sorrow, turning what had once been a bittersweet and love-filled day into a crushingly depressing one.

Kara tries to recite the Kryptonian mourning rites, to offer a prayer for all who passed, but they fall leaden and hollow off her tongue. She wasn’t supposed to know them—only the priests in the Religious Guild had known all the words. She doesn’t even have enough members for a proper quorum to recite the rites, but how can she? She’s alone.

It had felt so wrong to recite them years previous, sacrilegious because she wasn’t doing it _right_ , but this year, after everything she’s suffered and knowing she was so close to being reunited with her fallen family in the shell of their once-vibrant world, she wants to mourn them in the language they know how to be mourned in _._ To ease their restless souls where they sit, basking in Rao’s light, forgotten.

And so she curls her arms tighter around her knees and mutters what broken snippets she can remember, stuttering around the Kryptonian words she so rarely has a chance to speak as she tries to properly mourn her people, her planet and herself.

“Sokaonim rrandhuhs w Rao i threv khehshokh…” May Rao’s great name be holy. 

Right before Kara had been gently but firmly guided into her pod, as Krypton was crumbling around them, her mom had told her that her family would always be with her in her dreams. And she was right, in a way. In the pod, drifting through the Phantom Zone, Kara had dreamed of her parents in a nebulous yet peaceful way, their guidance lessening her hypnagogic anxiety. During her first year on Earth, she’d dreamed of her parents nearly every night, too. But this time her dreams weren’t just dreams. They were nightmares, forcing her to relieve the destruction of her world, every single night, from the knowledge that her mother’s hug would be her last to the blast knocked Kara’s pod off-course as Krypton exploded in an angry, fiery second. She couldn’t see behind her in the pod, but her dreams still painted a vivid image for her of what might have happened: her parents turning to hold each other one last time as the ground cleaved in two, sending fire from Krypton’s core to consume them. The ground shaking, causing the spires she’d loved so much to collapse, burying people in the rubble, killing them if the toxic air hadn’t already. Had they been afraid? Terrified? Were they in pain? Did people even know what was happening? Or had the world just crumbled and caught on fire before being blasted to pieces? She didn’t know, she’ll never know, and that was the point when she’d wake up in a cold sweat to the ceiling of her unfamiliar bedroom with the Danvers.

But eventually those nightmares, too, abated. She’d stopped dreaming in Kryptonian by her second Earth birthday, and she hadn’t had a vivid nightmare of her parents or Krypton since her fifth. 

But it was different, now. She was _so close_ to being able to finally return to her family; she could feel her parents just out of reach, calling to her each night from the stars. Her Earth birthday had always marked how far she was from Krypton—but now, on this year, it was drawing her closer.

“Sokaochadodh zhehd zw rrov pahdh urvish chao :divi w kryptahniumouju ni urvish. Kaoehworodh kryp zhi.” May He who makes peace and light give all Kryptonians peace. Let us say it is so.

Kara remains half-hidden in the wall for hours, rocking and mumbling the same few passages of the mourner’s prayer, trying to coax out forgotten words from the recesses of her buried memory. She can’t even remember the cantillation and instead stutters fragments of spoken prayer, hoping that they would spark a melody in her muscle memory. But there’s nothing, and she can only hope that her family and her people will forgive her for this fractured offering given with a thick tongue and leaden limbs.

Lena comes home earlier that day than she has in weeks, cautiously stepping into the condo just after four. Her hair has fallen from its professional ponytail and is instead tied up in a messy bun, but her makeup remains immaculate as always. She clutches a large plastic bag that piques Kara’s interest. She looks around the condo curiously until she catches sight of Kara by the front door, right where she left her. A small, timid smile breaks across her face when she sees her.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Lena says, stepping delicately around Kara to set her purse down. “I, um—I thought about you a lot, today. You worried me.”

Lena’s voice sounds forced, overly casual, and Kara’s heart sinks, a hopefully-comforting smile spreading across her face out of instinct. “No, Lena, I’m sorry. I’m okay, it’s no big deal. I just… I realized today is… an anniversary. Of coming to—to live with my adoptive family.”

“Oh,” Lena sets her belongings down at the kitchen table. “The Danvers, yes. Did you typically do something to mark the occasion?”

“Yeah,” Kara says, scuffing her foot along the floor, mindful of how Lena’s parents had handled her own adoption. “I don’t, um, celebrate my birthday—” or her name day, rather, because it took place in a completely different star system, and they’d had no way of knowing what the Earth equivalency was, “—so we always celebrate that instead. Er, used to celebrate.”

“That’s really sweet,” Lena smiles and bites her lip, glancing briefly at the bag resting on the table. “I, um, actually—I picked you up something on the way home.”

“What?” Kara exclaims, jumping to her feet anxiously. “Lena, you didn’t need to do that!”

“I know,” Lena waves her off. “But you seemed upset and I figured you could use some cheering up. And it can, I guess, be like a birthday gift.”

Kara flushes as Lena unwraps the package she'd been carrying, but her expression turns to one of shock when Lena pulls some protective tissue paper away. Oh... _oh_. It was an oil painting—no. It was _the_ oil painting. A centerpiece from a gallery opening a few weeks ago, that Kara had gravitated back to throughout the evening while Lena sipped wine in a fancy gown and made polite conversation with National City’s most judgemental elite. Before the event, Kara had been a bundle of nerves worrying that Cat Grant would show up, but she didn’t. Kara wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or worried by her absence.  

But thoughts of Cat Grant or other notable guests had faded away from Kara’s mind the moment she’d first spotted the painting. She had admired the red tones of the setting sun shining down upon a desert landscape, a scene that felt so much like home she'd been unable to look away. Lena had commented on Kara's fascination at the time, and Kara had played it off, had said it reminded her of a place she'd once visited as a child. But apparently Lena had remembered. Had even managed to acquire the original, although that couldn't have been easy. She must have cashed in on a favor or payed _well_ over what most people make in a year, since the gallery said the piece wouldn’t be available for purchase until some time next March.

“Oh, Lena,” Kara whispers, unable to find the words to express herself. The painting is _breathtaking_ ; although the painter had only combined Earth scenery with imagination, the imagery pays homage to Kryptonian landscape and is an unintentionally prescient gift. Overwhelmed, Kara remains silent, her hands covering her mouth.

“I, um. Well, I saw you admiring this,” Lena mentions offhand, as though she hadn’t just casually bought a one-of-a-kind painting that reminds Kara of Krypton on her Earth birthday. “And it is rather enchanting, and I figured it would be something pleasant to look at. Here, I’ll hang it up in the study!”

Lena grabs the painting and carries it to the study with a nod over her shoulder for Kara to follow along. She leans it gently against the wall and goes to fetch a hammer and some nails. Kara takes the opportunity to stroke the painting delicately, entranced. Her fingers slide right through the canvas, of course, but she can still imagine the feel of the rough texture of paint beneath her fingertips.

Lena returns to the study, tools in hand, and Kara pulls away from the painting with a jerk, as if guilty at being caught. With a quick smile, Lena begins to hang the painting while Kara watches, protesting weakly:

“It’s too expensive!”

“It doesn’t go with any of your things!”

“You really didn’t have to!”

But Lena just shushes her, standing back to admire the painting once it’s up.

“Perfect,” she grins, dusting her hands off. She and Kara stand shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at the painting’s gold curves and red valleys. Absently, Kara wonders what Lena sees when she looks at the painting.

“Thank you, Lena,” Kara breathes. Her chest aches to hug her friend. “It’s—it’s stunning.”

Lena preens, pleased. “I’m glad you like it.”

Kara laughs incredulously. “Like it?! I love it!”

“Good,” Lena says, pleased, resting a hand on her hip. “I wish you’d told me about your adoption anniversary,” she continues, her smile turning wistful. “I’d have gotten you a real present.”

Kara sputters. “B-but this _is_ a real present!”

Lena rolls her eyes. “One with _foresight,_ Kara. It… it means a lot to me, when someone remembers my birthday and gets me something in advance.”

“Oh,” Kara mumbles, feeling terrible. Lena’s birthday had come and gone with little fanfare a few months ago. It had been like any other day, although Lena had defrosted another secret cupcake to have with her wine that night. She’d sat on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanket to insulate herself against Kara’s chill, while Kara hovered next to her. They’d watched TV while Lena picked apart her ‘Birthday Sushi’ with her fingers. Nice, for sure. Cozy. But it wasn’t… _special_.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“You’re a ghost.” Lena gives her a _look_. “You don’t count. I can hardly expect you to stand in line at a Hallmark. And besides, your company is a present enough.”

Kara blushes.

“My parents never remembered,” Lena mentions offhandedly, taking a few steps back to settle on the couch in front of the painting. Kara trails after her and sits down next to Lena to join her in staring up at the artwork. It was… truly breathtaking. The longer Kara stared at it, the more details she noticed: the way the oranges and reds swirled together near the corners, the delicate brushstrokes for the nearly-purple shrubbery in the foreground, the slight iridescence to the shadows. After a moment, Lena continues, her tone distant, “Lionel always had more important matters to attend to, and I’m sure Lillian actually remembered the date perfectly well but refused to acknowledge my birthday on principle. 

“That’s terrible,” Kara gasps, turning towards Lena and marveling at how nonchalant she was, as she always was when she spoke of the neglect she faced in the Luthor home.

Lena shrugs. “I’m used to it. Lex never remembered, either, until the day of. I think he’d, uh. He’d see that I drew myself a card, and—God, this is so embarrassing, I’ve never told anyone this before.”

Kara frowns. She reaches for Lena, brushing her fingers through her knee. “It’s okay, Lena.”

Lena smiles, her face all scrunchy and her cheeks flushed pink. “It’s just so silly, Kara. All miserable and self-pitying. But Lex would see my card and then he’d tell me he wanted to give me a special present.”

“Did he go out and get you something?” Kara asks. Lena snorts and shakes her head.

“No, he was much too busy. But he had this library, you see. Attached to his bedroom. A whole room full of books. It was… my favorite place in the whole world to be. And he’d let me pick any one I wanted!” Lena laughs once, breathless and excited, and Kara can just picture the look of amazement that might have lit up her face over a decade before. “I could just... pick a book to be mine! And then I could dog-ear pages and read it in the bath and highlight words I didn’t know and write in the margins.”

“ _Any_ book?” Kara asks.

“Well, _almost_ any,” Lena admits with a crooked smile. “He’d never let me take his favorites, and he always had to approve my choice.”

“Oh my god, that’s _such_ a big sibling thing to do,” Kara rolls her eyes. “Alex was totally the same way.”

Lena snorts and raises her eyebrow. “No she wasn’t.”

Kara deflates. “No. She wasn’t. But still...”

“Still.” Lena laughs. “And it was a nice gift, for sure. I always looked forward to that day, and before my birthday I’d start scoping out books I wanted.. But, well... it was still never a well thought-out present. Something he planned, you know?”

“Yeah,” Kara says. “When I was little, my aunt—”

And then she cuts herself off, because her story involves a last-minute trip to Tamaran, falling into a river that ran gold, getting rescued by a very confused member of the Tamaranian royal family, and then a _very_ awkward dinner as the princess’ guest. 

“Um,” Kara coughs. “I mean, er. When I was fourteen, I insisted on having my adoption anniversary at the beach because that’s where Alex had her birthday, even though I couldn’t surf.”

Lena laughs once, although her smile’s started to fade. “Yeah,” she says, “and then Alex tried to take you out on a board with her, but while you were wading you touched some seaweed and panicked. That’s…” she hesitates, looking over to the side at her tablet. “That’s cute. But you already told me that.”

“Oh, um, whoops—” Kara starts, but Lena’s already reaching for her tablet, presumably ready to drop the conversation and get back to the work she’d surely missed during the day when she came home early. Kara bites her lip. It’s obvious Lena’s disappointed. Of _course_ she would be. Kara’s disappointed in herself.

She’s a horrible person for not telling Lena the truth, she knows it. Lying to her only friend takes an unimaginable toll on her every day. But—but she _can’t_ , whether by force of habit or a protective instinct or in reaction to an increasing culture of xenophobia. Maybe she’s trying to keep their relationship simple, trying to avoid a conversation of both damaged trust and the topic of aliens as a whole with the only person she knows who can even speak to her. Or… or maybe Kara’s just a coward. Too afraid to complicate things, too afraid to face Lena’s anger and hurt, too afraid to be herself on a planet where that has never been allowed before. Too comfortable hiding behind the protective wall of average human Kara Danvers, even as other aliens put their lives on the line to speak out.

Plus, although it hurts to admit it, a part of Kara is afraid of Lena’s reaction. Because Lena has her own demons to wrestle with, too—she’d expressed, late at night and in hushed whispers, concerns and prejudgements about aliens that cut Kara deeply. Fears of their intentions and abilities. And—and how could Kara tell Lena she was an alien without mentioning her cousin and his role in destroying someone Lena loved—still loves? It would be like digging into an exposed nerve, and Lena had already been so kind and generous with her. Kara can't bear to practically spit in the face of her kindness now, can’t bear to see the look on Lena’s face when she learns that Kara had been lying to her for the entirety of their friendship. That Kara’s just _another_ person who lied to Lena to get what she wanted.

They lapse into silence after that, resting under the glow of the painting. Lena has work to finish, and Kara’s too guilty to break the silence. She bows her head and longs for things just out of reach: her parents’ love, her sister’s lopsided grin, the warmth of Lena’s hand against her own as she stretches supine on a couch. She’s reading a new proposal from R&D, and her pulse is strong, pounding away in Kara’s head as she tries to remember what Krypton smelled like.

That night, the stars reach a crescendo. They’d been quieter, almost simmering, while Kara had been living with Lena. But now, on a night where Kara feels scrubbed raw, their call is overwhelming. She flits around the condo like a hummingbird, hoping that her parents’ calls would be quieted if she perched on a barstool or phased halfway through the window instead of nestling on the couch like usual.

 _Ina kah, ina kah, ina kah_.

“Stop!” Kara begs, her voice cracking.

 _Kaozhgamodh rrip w rurrelahs_. Come home.

“Please stop, please leave me alone!” Kara covers her ears with her hands, trying to tone out the voices of her parents.

She finds herself drawn automatically to Lena’s room, craving the safety in her presence. Lena is asleep, curled in a fluffy blanket, her dark hair slick against her white pillowcase. She looks... almost otherworldly, angelic, asleep like this, with the moonlight making her pale skin seem to glow in the dark room. Kara swallows thickly, gliding toward the bed as if in a trance.

“Lena?” Kara’s voice sounds strange, like it’s not coming from her.

“What?!” Lena shoots up in bed, clutching her chest as she looks around the room wildly.

 _Shit_. “Shoot, sorry, sorry, it’s okay,” Kara soothes, coming close. Goosebumps break out along Lena’s skin, tightening in her proximity.

“...Kara?” Lena asks, squinting.

“I…” _Am going crazy because I think I hear my parents calling me from the dead and I’m afraid I’ll be dragged into the darkness again_. “I had a nightmare.”

“You don’t sleep,” Lena accuses, her voice heavy. She leans back and drags her blanket up to her chin. 

“I know, I just,” Kara’s throat closes up on the words. “Is it okay if I spend the night in here? I—I just really don’t want to be alone right now.”

“’Course,” Lena mumbles, patting the bed beside her. Kara clambers over and curls up close enough that she can feel the barest hint of warmth from Lena’s sleep-soft body. “Cold,” Lena groans, but only shifts closer, the side of her arm briefly brushing through Kara’s.

“Goodnight,” Kara whispers. Lena waves her hand nonchalantly with an indistinct murmur, rolls over and almost instantly begins to snore. Kara screws up her eyes and burrows into Lena’s sheets, trying to surround herself with their warmth. She can’t hear her parents over Lena’s breathing, and instead she aches for the grounding touch of the woman beside her. She reaches out with a tentative finger to softly press against Lena’s back, but her fingertip just dips into Lena’s shoulder, causing her to shudder in her sleep. Of course. An intractable distance between them, even when they are so close. Kara’s skin feels empty and hollow, nothing but a shell; she hasn’t been touched in so long that she doesn’t feel real. She _isn’t_ real.

She covers her mouth while she cries, and her tears leave the barest trails of cold against her cheeks.

* * *

One night, Lena has a nightmare. Kara hears her cry out and panics, phasing through her bedroom wall before she can think twice.

Lena cries out again, twisted up in her sheets. She begins to protest, mumbling and whining and shifting around, as if trying to free herself from restraints. But she’s okay—she’s safe. Just having a nightmare. Kara’s heart sinks. Of _course_ she was having a nightmare. Although Lex had been quiet lately, Lena and her security team were always on alert for new threats. There’d been a bomb scare at the L-Corp building earlier in the day, from a package left by an old family associate, and Lena had been clearly frazzled all throughout the evening.

“Lena?” Kara reaches over to shake her, which only makes Lena panic more as Kara's frigid fingers slide through her shoulder.

“Get away from me!” Lena cries, jerking away from Kara’s touch and covering her face as tears began to trail down her cheeks.

“Lena!” Kara yells. “Lena, you’re having a nightmare.”

Lena stills, though Kara can still hear her frantic heartbeat. 

“Lena, please wake up,” she begs, softer this time. After a tense moment where her heart stutters, Lena jerks awake with a pained gasp.

“Kara?” She mumbles, her voice confused and thick with sleep. “Somethin’ wrong?” 

Kara panics, unsure if she is really awake, unsure whether Lena would even want to be reminded of her nightmare, reminded that Kara had _seen_ her shaking and afraid. She was such a proud person, always trying to appear unflappable even when she clearly wasn’t. “I’m, um—I’m cold.”

Lena groans and throws a pillow at her. It falls through her chest and lands on the floor with a dull ‘thump’. But Kara lingers, and after a moment Lena sighs and falls back onto the mattress.

“Fine, c’mere,” Lena says, grabbing blindly at another pillow and pulling it to her. “‘S way too hot anyway.”

* * *

Even though Lena would never ask her to, Kara begins spending each night in her bed. It becomes another routine that she and Lena fall easily into. Although she can’t truly sleep, Kara feels peaceful and rested next to Lena. More energized in the mornings than she had after long nights spent floating restlessly throughout the condo, or watching six straight hours of _Friends_ reruns because they were next in her Netflix queue and she doesn’t have any way to push pause.

Lena’s solid presence keeps the stars from calling to Kara with such an overpowering force; she doesn’t have to worry about floating away with Lena as her tether.

Lena, who shyly admits she has never shared a bed in her life, is far from the most relaxing person to lie next to, however. She tosses, turns, kicks, mumbles and whines. She wakes up often, shivering and grumpy, to find out she’s accidentally rolled over into Kara in her sleep. She also snores, although she adamantly denies that fact.

And yet, despite that, these late nights bring an all-new softness to their relationship. Kara and Lena lie next to each other in bed each night, open and defenseless, their voices hushed and their smiles tender, while they whisper about things they’ve never confessed to anyone before. Lena talks about the friendships she’s lost—over her intellect, her temper, her family—and the difficulty she has connecting with anyone new. And Kara talks about how difficult school had been after she first came to live with the Danvers, how her trauma had changed how she thought, and how things like English spelling rules and how _loud_ everything was made it impossible for her to focus. How doing poorly at school felt like it was negating her entire identity, since she’d always been so gifted. Academics had come to her effortlessly for years, but suddenly she was close to failing.

One night in mid-May they share the stories of their first kisses. Kara tells her story half-hidden in Lena’s mattress, still so mortified by her awkward and fumbling first kiss with a sweet boy she met on the beach as a young teenager that she can barely bring herself to even look at Lena while she recounts it. She’d busted his lip open with the force of her nervous excitement and had run away from him in embarrassment. They’d never talked again, and she’d always conspicuously hid her face in Alex’s shoulder when they’d passed each other in the future. Lena’s first kiss was with a boy at chess camp that was pleasant but unexciting. “About what you’d expect from a boy at chess camp, in retrospect,” she jokes. But her second kiss was with a girl she met while at an internship in Japan, and it had been so overwhelming that she’d cried afterwards.

But although they easily develop a strong rapport, there’s still a lot unsaid between them. Since the anniversary of Kara’s adoption, Lena has only spoken in the most general terms about her family; she postures and pretends that she’s fine even though Kara knows her mom hasn’t called her in months, not even when Lena was on the cover of _Forbes_. She’d anxiously checked her phone all day after the article went to print, and even though everyone from the waiter at her favorite restaurant to her head of security had congratulated her, Kara knows Lena hadn’t been totally satisfied.

Kara, meanwhile, plays up just how difficult it is to talk about her life before the Danvers. Because it _is_ difficult, of course. And it’s something she wants to do—wants to talk about—in a way she never has before. She’s never had someone she _wants_ to tell before. But she can’t be fully honest without talking about Krypton; she can’t fully explain _why_ it was so hard to come live with the Danvers without also mentioning that it was an entire _planet_ she was adjusting to; and she can’t just explain _how_ her family died even though she knows Lena isn’t satisfied with her vague answers. She can’t even tell Lena about her _own_ death, even though she aches and aches to just tell her everything. But something dark and cautious holds her back. It’s just, it’s been months and Kara hasn’t told her, and Lena’s so paranoid about people lying to her _and_ about aliens and about aliens _lying_ —  

And—maybe—Kara harbors some warped desire to keep her disgrace a secret. She’s the last daughter of Krypton and the last child who could remember the way Rao shined above them, bright and red and strong, illuminating every skyscraper and school and house in Argo City. And then she’d just gone and _died_. She alone had dropped the legacy of her people. She alone had ended her lineage. She alone was the reason Krypton—the real Krypton, not the performative fiction Clark worshiped—would be forgotten. And Kara can’t burden Lena—sweet, earnest, sensitive Lena—with the weight of her shame. Can’t admit to Lena just how much her death had cost. 

Kara tries to tell her, she does. She practices whenever she’s alone, whenever she’s trying to dissuade a criminal or wait for Lena to come home at the end of the day. She paces, mumbling about _not wanting to hurt Lena_ or bargaining _that she’s never told anyone before_. She stands in front of an empty mirror, looking at the place she imagines her reflection might be, and confesses that she was born on a planet called Krypton. She stands in front of a man sitting on a park bench and reading a newspaper and shouts to him that she’s an alien. But nothing she can think of will make it okay—no explanation will ever be satisfactory. And no matter how many dogs or pigeons or squirrels she tells, the words always die on her tongue before she can even begin to tell Lena. It’s just—it’s too hard. Lena’s even stopped asking questions about her birth family, so dissatisfied with Kara’s non-answers. But Kara sees how she looks at her sometimes, how her eyes sparkle and her eyebrow quirks whenever Kara slips up—if only she could just _tell_ her.

But wanting to come clean isn’t the only thing that makes her ache around Lena. It—it _hurts_ to be so close to someone without being able to touch them. She wants to reach over and feel Lena solid and warm beneath her questioning fingers. She wants to feel her silky hair between her fingertips and tucked under her chin as they cuddle together on the couch; she wants to brush the downy skin of Lena’s cheeks with her own as she presses a brief kiss to her cheek before they fall asleep together. It’s her insecurities that prevent her from reaching over and trying, rather than her transience. It’s been two years since she died, but her body still feels all _wrong_. Unnatural. She still has to remind herself that she can’t touch, can’t feel, can’t get near Lena without making her feel apprehensive and creeped out—it’s not something that comes naturally to her. But her nerves, on the other hand... She’s never had a relationship before; her earnest attempts had always ended in broken noses and crumpled dreams. And… and she’s not saying she wants a-a _relationship_ with Lena, anyway! She’s not… She was just lonely, is all. She’d always found herself growing... attached to people who were kind to her, when she was alive. And Lena _is_ the only one she could talk to, after all. Surely that’s all this was. It would be beyond unkind of her to take advantage of Lena’s generosity like that. And it would be so _selfish_ of Kara to fall in love with someone she was going to leave soon. So. So she’s not. Falling in love, that is. This tightness in her chest and this warmth in her limbs, it’s nothing like that. Because she’ll leave soon. Any day now. As soon as they find Alex.

They _have_ to find Alex. She’s just… there’s a _perfectly_ good explanation for her to be so difficult to find, Kara knows it. And Alex was going to tell her all about it once they found her, before looking up star maps so she could point Kara in the right direction. And then Kara would leave again, say goodbye to Alex for good, say goodbye to—to Lena, too, and leave. Return to her family and her sun. Everything was going to be fine! All they had to do was find Alex.

* * *

 “Look!” Lena calls out the moment she closes the front door, arriving home on time for the first time in over a week. “Kara, look, the prototype is ready!”

“Cool!” Kara meets her at the door, peering at the box in Lena’s hands. Lena opens it and slides out an object that’s a little larger than a computer mouse with a thumbprint-sized light at one end. “It looks great! Um, what is it?”

“Oh!” Lena says, seeming to forget in her excitement that she’s yet to explain what the invention actually is. “Well, you know how there are more and more aliens arriving to Earth these days, right?”

Kara flinches, although she keeps her smile firmly glued in place. Yes, she knows. She watches the news that reports any possible crime committed _by_ an alien but ignores the rising human supremacy movement or the tensions in the streets between vulnerable human and alien populations. She knows, because every headline is a punch to her gut that reminds her she’s supposed to be out there changing things for the better, offering a balanced perspective, establishing herself as a voice sympathetic to the needs of the growing alien population. Becoming a name aliens could see on the byline and feel reassured that someone’s got their back. Someone cares about their safety. Someone’s listening. Someone’s out there fighting for them, however figuratively. But instead, she’s cursed to this half-life, where she’s only ever a witness and never an active participant. “Mm-hmm?”  

“Well,” Lena hums, pressing a button on the device’s surface. The machine beeps once, and Lena smiles down at it with pride evident in the sparkle of her eyes. “This is an alien detection device that allows humans to find out who among them is not truly one of them.”

A heavy, sinking pressure creeps down Kara’s back all at once. “What?” She stares, stupefied, as Lena nonchalantly continues, her voice easy and light, clearly oblivious to the way Kara’s stomach twists.

“It’s not market ready yet, of course, but once it is we expect this to be available in every store, in every town all across America!” She bounces on her toes, clearly excited and clearly hoping Kara would be as well. Instead, Kara just takes a small step back, feeling suddenly ill.  

“H-how does it work?” Kara tries to sound unaffected, but her voice wavers. She thinks of herself when she first arrived on Earth: vulnerable, naïve, trusting—and how such a device could have been used to hurt her. Of how a moment of carelessness _had_ been used to hurt her.

“Oh, it’s just a simple skin test,” Lena grins, rolling the device around in her fingers as though she’s not holding a weapon with the potential to ruin people’s lives, to break families apart, to incite further mistrust and violence. “Let me show you what a negative response looks like.”

Lena presses her thumb against the light and it flashes once, twice, before glowing green. 

“See?” Lena’s smile is wide and victorious. “Isn’t it _cool_?”

Kara feels sick in a way she hasn’t since she got food poisoning on the planet Rann when she was eight. This was wrong, it was unfair, and it was discriminatory. How could—how could she lie in bed each night next to someone with the potential to create _this_? To someone who would not only make a device like this, but would happily present it to Kara with a hopeful expression, as if expecting her to feel anything other than _horrified_?

“Lena… doesn’t a device like this… like… go against everything America stands for?” Kara tries to mask her fury and fear with a gentle question.

“Such as?” Lena’s still smiling, but now it’s confused, doubtful.

“Like…” Kara scrambles. “Well, freedom? Against oppression, persecution. America’s always been a country full of immigrants.” _Like me_ , she doesn’t say. Can’t say, when Lena steps backwards away from her and looks at her like _that_. Closing herself off right in front of Kara’s eyes. Betrayed and hurt by Kara’s disapproval. Her _justified_ disapproval. 

“Yeah, well,” Lena forces out a laugh, as if surprised to be challenged. As if—as if she’d thought Kara would be _impressed_ with her, for creating something like this. “America’s always been a country full of humans.” She crosses her arms over her chest defensively. Her jaw juts out, and Kara squirms.

“But, I mean, really, don’t you think this is discriminatory?” Kara bites out. She’s tried to temper her reactions in the past, tried not to give too much away, but this isn’t abstract comments about aliens in general or responses to a story from the news. This is personal, real, and it’s so _hard_ to act calm with the way Lena absently fiddles with the DNA scanner, carelessly handling a device that could so easily have ruined Kara’s life. Could so easily ruin many others. “Won’t a device like this create more tension and fear?”

“There’s already tension and fear,” Lena counters. “Things are getting worse each day. If aliens want to come to Earth, that’s their prerogative. But humans deserve a chance to know who among them isn’t being honest! Isn’t who they say they are. How would _you_ feel, learning someone you thought you knew, thought you could trust—maybe even someone you thought you _loved_ —was going behind your back, hurting other people just like you? You’ve seen the news, Kara. The _attacks_. People need a way to protect themselves.”

“Maybe aliens have their reasons!” Kara’s voice is high and panicked as she gestures to the device in Lena’s hand. “People have a right to privacy—the whole world doesn’t need to know your story!”

“So you’re telling me,” Lena hisses, clutching the device in her hand tighter, “that you wouldn’t be _crushed_ to find out you’d been lied to by someone you thought was _human_? This device could prevent that!”

“No! It couldn’t!” Kara waves her hands in exasperation. “And—and I wouldn’t _care_ if someone I loved wasn’t human! Why _would_ I care? What would it matter if someone I loved were an alien?”

Lena’s eyes flash dangerously. She takes a step towards Kara, and Kara swears she feels even colder.

“Love has limits,” Lena grits out between clenched teeth. “Don’t lecture me about being accepting, Kara. You-you don’t get to talk to me about open-mindedness. You had the _perfect_ life and no one you’ve loved has ever turned into a homicidal _maniac_. No one you love has ever lied to you before. So _forgive me_ for wanting to be cautious about anyone I bring into _my_ life. I thought you’d understand that, but clearly—”

“That’s not true!” Kara cries. “You don’t—you don’t know my life!” Lena clenches her jaw at that, folds her arms across her chest with the device still tightly clamped in her hand. But Kara ignores her obvious hurt, because… because this isn’t _fair_. “And that’s not what this is about, anyway! Don’t you think that aliens deserve protection from-from devices like this?”

“That’s not my job.” Lena growls, her brief show of vulnerability being replaced by an even harder mask. “Besides, just _look_ at them. Aliens here have _superpowers_. They’re hardly in need of protection.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it!!” Kara waves her arms again, even more agitated because Lena’s not _listening_.

“I can hardly _force_ anything to take the skin test if it doesn’t want to, Kara.” Lena’s voice is cool and impersonal, just like her expression. “I’m a businesswoman and an inventor. L-Corp is in the business of making money, and this device is going to make us a fortune. But _unlike_ my brother, I’m going to do it for the good of the world. Humans and aliens together, so long as they’ve got nothing to hide.”

“The good of the world?” Kara cries. “That’s not—aliens here are part of the world, too, Lena! And you—you’re giving the people trying to hurt them another weapon. Why would you want to provide ammunition for the hatred they face?”

Lena blinks. The device rests gently in her palm, unobtrusive, deceptively calm. “My device will _prevent_ an escalation, Kara, because—”

“I-I need to go,” Kara blurts out, wrapping her arms tight around her chest and walking awkwardly backwards before launching herself out through Lena’s closed window, her eyes burning and her chest shaking as she starts to cry.


	8. Chapter 8

Lena stares at the spot Kara had just occupied, shocked. Kara’s obviously upset with her, obviously can’t even bring herself to be around Lena, but she hadn’t _meant_... ugh! Lena wrenches her head away from the window Kara had flown through moments ago and runs her fingers over the smooth metal of the alien detection device, biting down hard at her lip until the pain washes away the memory of the hesitation in Kara’s voice, her obvious discomfort. She'd—she'd thought, well. Kara was always so enthusiastic about Lena's new tech ideas. Even when they didn’t work yet, even when they were just early ideas for a prototype that she’d scribbled out on a napkin to show Kara during dinner. Kara had helped Lena keep going when she hit creative roadblocks, offering her ever-optimistic encouragement or surprisingly advanced technical insight when Lena most needed it. Lena had just wanted to surprise Kara with something that actually worked right from the beginning. Something impressive, useful. And… and she’d _seen_ the way Kara lingered in rooms with televisions broadcasting the latest alien threat in National City; had gotten used to the uncomfortable prickle on the nape of her neck when Kara would huddle up right behind her as she read news stories about Superman's latest rescues on her tablet. She’d just wanted to—she'd assumed Kara felt—but it doesn't matter, because she’d assumed _wrong_.

“Damn it,” Lena curses at the empty room, hating the embarrassing way her breath catches in her throat. She offers the device in her hand a final brief and disgusted look before flinging it at the kitchen table. It slides and falls to the ground with a clatter. Kara was supposed to be _impressed_. Supportive. It… it’s not like the device was _for_ Kara, of course. But. But all throughout the past few months, the sleepless nights brainstorming, the missed lunches spent in the lab fine-tuning the DNA sensor, Lena had been imagining the excitement that she'd hear in Kara's voice—the praise, the assurance that this was exactly what people needed to feel safer going about their everyday lives. She'd—she'd been imagining Kara being _proud_ of her. She'd been hoping for it. Like a lovestruck idiot. Lena clenches her jaw so hard a stinging feeling builds behind her eyes.

“You _failure_ ,” she hisses, digging her nails into her forearms. She wasn’t _worthy_ of… of anything she desperately wants from Kara. She just screws _everything_ up. She flares her nostrils, breathes deeply. She’s not… she’s _not_ going to cry about this. She’s not 

The alien detection device was supposed to make people feel safer. It was supposed to assuage everyday people’s fears that there were aliens in their midst, to offer an alternative to anxiously drifting closer towards televisions as they recited the most recent attempted attack. And it was supposed to be a win for the company, too: a handheld machine using advanced, patented L-Corp technology for a good cause that would make her investors, her supporters, and—just maybe—her critics stand behind her. Affordable, innovative, _needed_.

But… but Kara hadn’t sounded like she felt safer or reassured. She’d sounded… _angry_.

Lena draws her eyebrows together as she slumps down in a chair and studies the device lying intact on the hardwood floor. It hadn't broken when she threw it earlier. And now Lena finds herself tempted to crush it beneath the heel of her shoe. Nothing but a childish gesture, of course. A tantrum. It wouldn’t do anything but satisfy the inane desire burning within her stomach to destroy _something_. But it wouldn’t really be destroyed, obviously: the schematics for the device had been saved to L-Corp's server, ready to be mass produced once she gave the all-clear.

Besides, it isn't the lifeless plastic and metal that had screwed this evening up so badly. It’s Lena. She _knows_ that; she should have known _better_. Kara had always gotten quiet when Lena talked about aliens—about how she didn’t want to be her brother, _of course,_ but how their ongoing presence in the daily news worried her. Lena had assumed Kara’s silence was because she agreed with her and had nothing else to add to the levelheaded summary, not because she was… because she didn’t feel like she _could_ tell Lena how she really felt. Lena had unintentionally left her closest (and her _only_ ) friend feeling scared and trapped. She’d made someone feel like they couldn’t share their opinions without consequences, just like how Lena had felt with… how she’d felt with Lex. How she’d once bit her tongue when he first started to talk about the plague against humanity. Too afraid of his wrath, too willing to assume he’d come to his senses before things got _really bad_ to have been brave enough to intervene before he killed all those innocent people. Before Lex’s vendetta had taken Lena’s beloved brother from her.

Is this how it starts? Lena wonders, pressing her thumb into the tender flesh of her forearm, glaring at the discarded detection device—a simply shaped object she’d designed intentionally to be accessible. Hubris and self-congratulation are gateway drugs for Luthors. Always have been. Was this not how Lex started, too? Inventing things he thought were innocuous, but that could be so easily corrupted? Was Lena _truly_ creating technology for the greater good, or was she just being opportunistic?

But… no, this was _different_. This wouldn’t _kill_ aliens, or even _hurt_ them at all! It would just… detect them. So they wouldn’t be able to lie to people anymore. Because—because things would be better if everyone was just honest! No more lies, no more subterfuge, no more deceit. Humans could go about their lives without having to fear for their safety at every turn, and aliens could, well… do whatever it was they wanted to do. Not have to concern themselves anymore with lies and deceit. A win for everyone involved.

Of course… of course Lena _knew_ there’d be an adjustment period, at first. Aliens threw the world out of equilibrium with their arrival and subsequent political involvement, and her device would bring that balance back—but not without growing pains. There would certainly be a minor initial pushback from alien rights groups who detested her simply because of her name, but eventually they, too, would see the merit in her technology.

And of _course_ Lena knows there could potentially be trouble. Lone, unorganized, hateful and ignorant humans could get their hands on the technology just as easily as—as a well-meaning employer who simply wanted to make sure their employees were trustworthy, or a landlord who wanted to make sure their tenants were upfront. But she'd always assumed that the benefits of her device to humanity would far outweigh the minimal cost to—to the _others_. The _aliens_.

But what if she's wrong? What if creating a device like this wouldn't be making the world a safer, more honest place, but rather would be creating an even more hostile environment for an already-disadvantaged population?

The… the device was a good idea. She’d found an early concept diagram slipped into a quarterly report shortly after she took over L-Corp, probably left over from a brainstorm session between the bright minds Lex had assembled before he’d started firing anyone who challenged him. She’d left it on the backburner for months, but then—but then she’d been attacked so many times, and with everything that that infernal Lois Lane had dug up… Lena had felt it was time to dust off the proposal. Not to mention that the board has been breathing down her neck for months, demanding she develop more military technology. The alien detection device was a compromise that she’d only grown to like the more she thought about it. It would be able to prevent aliens from lying about themselves, and it would be a way for humans to protect themselves. It was _good._

But… but then it had upset Kara so much. “You’re giving the people trying to hurt aliens another weapon,” she’d accused earlier, with a slightly hysterical tinge to her voice. Panic. As if—as if Lena herself were forcing people into danger. As if… she were _hurting_ someone. And, of course, maybe Kara was just wrong. Maybe she’s never learned what it felt like to have someone she knew, someone _close_ to her, lie about themselves for _years_. Maybe she just doesn’t know that pain. Or. Or maybe Lena was stuck in an echo chamber, having only gotten feedback from her employees. Maybe… maybe _Lena_ was wrong, and the device had the potential to do more harm than good.

But it has to be salvageable, right? Lena can’t be _entirely_ wrong. There’s potential! She’ll… she’ll have to set the launch date back, and do more research, but… it wasn’t a waste of months of research and thousands of dollars. She can’t just… pull a device at the drop of a hat all because Kara had looked at her like—like she was some sort of monster. No matter how much she wants to. She’s got a company to run, and—and… and, damn it, she wants to do right by Kara. To forget the fearful crack to her voice when she’d first asked Lena if maybe the device seemed a little dangerous.

Lena picks up the detection device from the floor, looking it over carefully. Maybe—maybe there was a better way to go about this. More strategic, more delicate. A chance to do _actual_ good. She turns the device over in her hands, inspects it carefully, suddenly feeling more able to stomach its presence.

After a moment, she plucks a worn multitool from her sweatpants pocket and uses the flathead screwdriver to pop open the back panel of the device, staring down at its wiring. She begins to methodically pull it apart, taking notes on her tablet, turning over ideas in her head for how to apologize to Kara, how to improve the device, or—or maybe both. She _can’t_ let this ruin her friendship with Kara—she _won’t_. She needs to repent, even if she doesn’t feel like it. Even if she doesn’t… entirely understand. She _wants_ to. Her finger hovers over the sensor, allowing it to sequence the α-keratin in her skin and scan the atomic makeup of the amino acids making up the protein for abnormalities—that’s it, atoms… atoms in the _air_! More difficult than a simple skin sample, for sure, but just maybe… Lena opens a new window and begins to furiously type out notes on another invention. One for Kara. To make her proud. To make her forgive Lena.

After a couple of hours, a soft swoosh disrupts the quiet of the room as Kara flies in through the kitchen wall and settles in the chair beside her.

The two sit in tense silence for a long moment. Finally, Kara sighs, leaning forward closer to Lena, reaching briefly toward her before letting her arm fall limply back through the table. “I’m sorry,” she breathes out, wringing her hands.

“That’s okay,” Lena holds up her hand and smiles at Kara, awkward and toothy. Uncomfortable, because Kara won’t even _look_ at her. Instead she’s all hunched over herself, staring at the floor, like she’d rather be anywhere in the world than stuck with Lena Luthor. And it stings, but Lena continues. She hasn’t ruined things completely, not yet. Kara is here now, that’s what matters. “It’s me who should apologize. I mean it, I—um, I should have thought more about the ramifications of the device I was making. Ramifications for—for aliens, that is.”

Kara swallows audibly. Her wringing hands make a flurry of movement in the periphery of Lena’s vision. “Lena—” she starts, but Lena interrupts her.

“No, you're right, Kara,” she states. Kara snaps her head to stare at Lena. “It's—it's not fair. Forcing aliens to, um," Lena hesitates, trying to choose her words. Because the first to come into her head are _force them to be honest_ , but that's all wrong. Insensitive. She's trying to _apologize_. "Expose themselves. To danger," she finishes. It’s easier to remind herself that there _is_ danger, that there _is_ hatred that aliens face every day. Better to think of that than of growing tension and extremism, the small militias and gangs, the news’ speculation that small groups of alien extremists are adapting human disguises to more easily infiltrate crowded areas. "I wasn't thinking of it from their perspective."

“I have something I need to tell you, actually,” Kara says, straightening up a bit and placing her hands palms-up over the table. She plays with her fingers for a moment and then cradles her left hand in her right. Her voice is serious in a way Lena hasn’t really heard from her before, but Lena doesn’t want to hear it yet—can’t hear it yet. Can’t listen to Kara come to the conclusion that she’d made a mistake by trusting Lena. She _needs_ Kara to know she’s _trying_ before Kara makes the decision to end their growing friendship.

And so she interrupts. “Hold on!” Lena waves an arm in a flustered gesture in Kara’s direction as she makes a final note on her tablet. “I… I thought about what you said, Kara. And it’s, um—it’s difficult for me to admit that maybe I’m… not right, here. But I’ve decided to shelve the detection device—at least for the time being. I’m assembling a team to research some of the points you brought up. And I’m… considering talking to my board about limiting sales and refining its use as a medical device. And—and also I’ve just diverted the funds for a facility to begin doing non-invasive research on aliens in order to expand our knowledge about alien anatomy, physiology, and pathology. All right now, while you were gone, see? You’re right—taking care of aliens matters more than rooting them out, morally and practically.”

“I-I didn’t say that. Look, Lena, there’s no easy way for me to tell you—”

“But, well, wait. Do you think that’s too much of a swing in the other direction? I’m a Luthor; my name is stained. It could be that any tech or innovations for the benefit of aliens that bear my name will be doomed to fail this early in—but, well, maybe there’s a subsidiary company I can set up to do this research instead. It’s not too late to call Marc and have him redirect the funds to someone with a better track record. Though, if I want to change my inheritance, this is a definitive way, good point… although, no, it will alienate some of Lex’s people… who—who I want to move away from, anyway. Gah, these ideas are so sudden, and I don’t know what I’m doing!”

Kara’s voice raises just slightly. “There was a _reason_ I was so defensive, Lena. A personal reason. I’m-I’m—”

“And,” Lena flicks a piece of hair out of her eyes, finally looking up at Kara for the first time since she’d returned. Finally feeling like she _could_ look at her. “In the meantime, I’ve decided to invent something else!”

“Lena, I’m an—” 

“It’s for you!” Lena grins, turning the tablet around so Kara could see the hasty diagram she’s prepared. “It’s a sensor to test your atomic makeup! Once I run a few tests I’ll be able to, well... I want to invent something to help you materialize—you won’t be intangible anymore!” 

“I’m—wait, w-what?” Lena waits with an expectant grin for any further reaction, but Kara remains silent, wide-eyed. After a few moments, Lena’s face falls. She drops one hand beneath the table, pressing her nails against her palm.

 “Do you… not like it?”

“No, I’m just,” Kara’s voice is thick, choked with emotion. “I’m… you’d do that? For _me_?" 

“Of course! You’re my best friend.” Lena gestures between them with a cautious smile. Hopefully they still were—hopefully Lena hadn’t ruined everything. Hopefully, but why wasn’t Kara more excited? 

"I—I don't know what to say. Lena... _thank you_ ," Kara whispers, her voice reverent as she leans closer to the tablet.  
  
"Um, you're welcome," Lena says. Somewhat overwhelmed by the sudden rush of relief and _warmth_ , knowing that Kara's happy all because of _her_. Kara _liked_ it. She liked it, and Lena can breathe again. Kara doesn’t hate her. "Um, and, well. Sorry for interrupting you, a moment ago. I was a little... nervous. Um. What were you going to say, Kara? You can,” she starts with a subtle quiver in her voice she hopes that Kara doesn’t pick up on, remembering all-too-clearly how Kara must have felt like she couldn’t be honest with Lena before. “You can tell me anything, I promise.”  
  
"Oh... oh!" Kara jerks up in surprise, her arms vaguely fiddling in a way Lena can't quite make out. “Um, um, I mean… well, it’s nothing.” She drops her head, staring down at the design still displayed on Lena’s tablet.

“Oh.” Lena _shouldn’t_ feel so disappointed. She _deserves_ this—this doubt. It’s just… she thought she could fix it, fix them. “Okay then.” She waits for a minute, and then another, but Kara does nothing but stare down at the tablet, occasionally ghosting her finger over the surface as if in awe. Finally, Lena stands up, her chair screeching backwards with the abrupt movement. She jerks a hand vaguely towards her room. “Well. I guess I’ll just—" 

“Wait!” Kara looks up suddenly, waving her hands in front of Lena to stop her. “Wait! This is wrong! It’s… it wasn’t nothing. It’s—I—um. Would you… sit back down?”

Lena stares for a moment, looking at Kara long enough that her features seem to fade away into the scenery behind her. “Well, alright.” She sits back at the table, stiff.

“Um, well. Okay. So, I haven’t ever told anyone this be-before, and I’m… um. So the reason I got so angry earlier is that, for me, this issue is… personal…”

Lena’s blood runs cold. _Personal?_ What about this could be _personal?_ Could Kara have known some sort of— “Kara?” She squeaks, clenching her hands together tight enough to sting. “Kara, what are you saying?”

“Lena, I’m an, an—”

“No,” Lena breathes. The room tilts. “ _No_ , Kara, you’re—”

“I’m an alien!” Kara practically yells, throwing her arms wide. “Okay? You’re my best friend, Lena, and I wasn’t _trying_ to keep that from you because I don’t trust you, it’s just that—”

“No, no, I get it,” Lena says, her voice low, rough. Revealing more than she wants it to, along with the way she can feel her cheeks burning. She’s an _idiot_. A _ghost!_ She’d let herself believe Kara just happened to be a _ghost_ , that humans could just up and become _ghosts!_ Of all the idiotic, naive, hairbrained lies she’d ever encountered, this had to be the worst, the most transparent. And—and she’d gone and _fallen_ for it, too. Because, why? Because she _liked_ Kara? Because she thought Kara might—she’s such a _fool_. Lena tries to stop her hands from shaking when she reaches for her tablet and pushes up from the table. “You don’t have to say anything else.”

 _Alien_. Her Kara—one of them. Everything she’d told Lena… it was a lie. She didn’t trust her. She was _using_ her. For what? Lena didn’t even _know_. Betrayal makes Lena’s head start pounding and her throat close up. After everything she’d done, after everything she’d just done _tonight_ , even, Kara had _lied._ She balls her fists again, stretching muscle and sinew over bone so hard she shakes. Kara _lied_ to her. Kara was an _alien_.

“Lena, wait, please stay, we can-we can talk about this,” Kara pleads. “I think there _is_ more to say.” 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Lena snaps. “The less I know, the better. Wouldn’t want to trust a _Luthor_ with such sensitive information, would you?” She stalks towards her bedroom.

“No, Lena! That’s not it!” Kara follows her, desperation making the edges of her words ragged.

Lena stops in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, half-turning to watch Kara stumble through the furniture in an attempt to follow behind. “All I want to know,” she says, voice sharp and eyes burning, “is why you did it.”

Kara freezes up before Lena, and she feels a sense of grim satisfaction that at least she can leave Kara feeling a even a fraction of how lost and tripped-up as she feels in that moment. “I—I…” she stutters a moment, brings her hands together to fidget with her fingers. “I’ve never _told_ anybody before. I was _scared_ , and—”

“No,” Lena interrupts. “Not that. I mean the story. All the stories. The family, the sister. Was it…”

“It’s real. All of it.” It’s the most certain Kara’s sounded all evening, and Lena’s so tempted to believe her. “I _promise_ , it’s all real! Alex and the Danvers and my old job! I wasn’t lying, I _wouldn’t!_ You’re my friend—”

“I’m going to bed,” Lena snarls, slamming the door in Kara’s face. Lena rests her head on the back of the door, feeling horrible and guilty and exhausted. Drained, but god _damn_ it she still believes Kara even now, after all this. She… she can’t just leave her. Lena takes a deep breath and then slides the door open. She catches a glimpse of Kara hunched into a ball on the floor, but she refuses to let her gaze linger.

“I’ll still help you... Kara,” Lena says. Her voice is flat, monotone. Cold. “With finding your… sister. And the corporeality device. I… I owe it to you. You saved my life on more than one occasion and… provided me with a lot of much-needed company.” She forces out a laugh, sad and dry. “Must have been difficult for you, putting up with me, knowing who I was.”  

“Lena, wait,” Kara reaches towards her, but Lena doesn’t react, even when Kara’s fingers dip briefly through her. 

“I’m more than my last name,” Lena finishes, already pulling the door shut once again. “I keep my promises. But I don’t want to see your face for a while. Goodnight, Kara.”

Lena tries not to wince when she hears Kara let out a muffled cry from behind the door. She… she’s doing the right thing. That… _alien_ had _lied_ to her, pretending to be her _friend_ , and she was well within her rights to be upset about it! Kara _knew_ how Lena felt, she knew her history and her reservations, and she still lied to her for almost a year! She—it—she was _lucky_ Lena was still going to help her. Was a person true to her word. Was definitely not aching as though she’d been punched, wanting to do nothing more than have her best friend tell her that it had been some sort of joke and that everything is all right. But it isn’t.

Lena’s sick and tired of being lied to and used and abandoned. The gentle sound of her radio drowns out Kara’s noises from the other room. 

* * *

“She doesn’t want to see _my_ face for a while?!” Kara growls to herself, soaring over the business district of National City. The setting sun drags dark shadows over the steel and concrete and glass of the city, making everything seem harsh and angular. Unfamiliar and unwelcoming.  “Well, maybe I don’t want to see _her_ face, either! 

After she’d wasted away nearly fifteen minutes earlier pleading with Lena to open up the door and talk with her, Kara had given up. Lena was ignoring her. The only person in the _entire_ world who could see her was… was _ignoring_ her. And all for her own _selfish, short-sighted, inconsiderate_ reasons.

Kara tilts her head back and screams in frustration, dissatisfied with the way her anger is lost to the clouds. Her shout is as effective as when she’d kicked helplessly at Lena’s door before, calling out that she was leaving, since Lena wanted her to go so bad. Warning with a shaking voice that Lena _better_ not try to stop her.

She hadn’t.

In fact, Lena hadn’t done anything at all.

It’s not—it’s not _fair!_ Kara yells out into the open sky again, opening her arms and dropping down to the concrete below. It’s the wind blowing through her face that makes her eyes sting 

She didn’t do anything wrong! She repeats that to herself as she drifts through nearly-empty streets, unconsciously taking a familiar route. She wasn’t obligated to tell Lena anything! She’d never told _anyone_ anything before! She’d spent her whole life trying to fit in, trying to be _human_ , pretending that she was _normal_ to make everyone else’s lives easier! The world already _had_ a Superman. All she had to be was Kara Danvers, and sometimes she could even convince herself that that was all she wanted to be, too.

 

Kara slows to a stop, clutching at her chest. She feels… heavy and sick and wrong and—oh. Oh, she’s… at her old apartment building. Her place. Where she’d lived before she died. Where she and Alex would fight over what movie to watch and arm wrestle for the last fortune cookie and _laugh_ about the ways Kara couldn’t quite fit in rather than _fight_ about it.

 

But, of course, it’s not hers anymore. Even at an angle, she can tell it’s been changed. The cabinets, the lamps, even the curtains are new. She bites her lip, feels her head spinning. Of course… of course things were different now.

 

And… and of _course_ Lena hadn’t answered her, earlier. She screwed everything up. It’s all her fault, and she knows it. She… she _lied_. There’d been many times in her life when Kara had considered herself a coward: times when she ignored nearby cries for help while fetching Ms. Grant’s morning coffee, times when she’d miserably changed the channel from the coverage of a nearby warehouse fire to one of her favorite movies so she could continue to eat her dinner, even though it tasted like ash in her mouth, and a time, so long ago, when she’d allowed herself to be guided to a pod without resistance, leaving her entire world and everyone she loved to perish while she lived on. And now she has a whole new moment to add to the ever-growing list, her selfish and cowardly choice to keep Lena in the dark, even when there were times she could have stepped forward, _should_ have stepped forward. It didn’t matter if she’d been afraid. Didn’t matter if all she’d wanted was to keep her closest friend, to be able to be _normal_ , have a _normal_ relationship.

No. No! _No!_

In life and in death, no one needed to _know_. It’s—it’s Kara’s identity! It’s her history! Lena doesn’t have a right to her story. How… how dare Lena act as though Kara _owed_ her an explanation. How dare she be angry at _Kara_ when all she’d done since Kara had known her was talk about how she couldn’t _trust_ aliens because they “weren’t honest” when being honest meant being _targets_ for people like Lena’s own _brother_. For people like _Lena_ , making a device like _that_.

 _Lena_ was the one who couldn’t understand why aliens feel the pressure to hide, the pressure to hide from _her,_ and Kara wasn’t obligated to feel guilty about it!

“Ugh!” Kara groans, curls up into a ball in the air. She wipes roughly at her eyes and shouts once again, and although she can see dim traces of people walking along the dark street below her, none react to the sound. She kicks uselessly at the air, and then launches away from her old apartment. Doesn’t want to see it anymore. She’ll find somewhere _else_ to go for the night.

As she flies, mindlessly circling around the CatCo building she’s avoided for over a year, she has the fleeting thought that Alex would know how to make things better. Her stomach twists like a washcloth getting wrung out. She misses her sister so, _so_ much. She just wants Alex to hold her and tell her she did the right thing being cautious like that, tell her that she’s loved, that she’s missed. Kara’s so lonely and everything hurts and, and she just wants—

It doesn’t matter. She wants something she can’t have. Wants to alter the paths Rao weaves for everyone; she’s spent years wanting to raise the dead, trying to make flesh and blood from memories, and now even her own death has been distorted, her path back to Rao interrupted. She shakes her head of the thought and takes a sharp turn, flying through one of the glass walls and jerking to a stop in her old office. 

It’s empty. Dark. All the computers off, all the workers gone, all the hectic, vibrant, _wonderful_ energy completely, frighteningly absent. Kara sniffles as she peers at the knickknacks at her replacement’s desk. A framed photo of a curly-haired blonde woman, a brightly-smiling man with his arm draped over her shoulder and a little Pomeranian between them. A smooth rock painted with greek letters. A tape dispenser shaped like a high heel.

No photo of Alex, Kara and Eliza. No fidget toys. No encouraging post-it notes from Winn. At least the indents of Kara’s fingers on the edge of the desk are still there, from the day Kara found out that Lex Luthor had almost killed Clark.

Shuddering, Kara turns and wanders from her old desk to Cat Grant’s office. But even this is different, wrong. Not like Cat at all. Gone is the gold tree in the corner and the silver-accented knickknacks strategically placed around the room to be “a step above eye-catchy, a step below tacky.” Gone too is the bowl of M&M’s and the flowerpots overflowing with magenta and white orchids, replaced by a shiny black vase and fake flowers. At least the wall of TVs is still there, although they’re blank now. Dark and empty, mocking her. Seeing Cat’s office so desolate makes Kara feel vacant inside.

It’s hollow, insubstantial. Just like her.

Kara can’t take this anymore, can't _look_ at this anymore, and with a final glance towards her old desk she kicks off the floor and passes through the ceiling. Goes up and up and up until she can practically feel the chill in the air.

Of course Lena felt betrayed. Kara was—Kara was so _stupid_ , to tell her, to tell her _now_ , like _this_. All her adult life she’d pictured what telling someone would feel like: free, exhilarating, strengthening her bond to someone—someone who wouldn’t treat her differently, would ask her thoughtful questions, would make her feel whole. Accepted. Loved and supported.

Not betrayed and angry! Kara had ruined things. Broken Lena’s trust in her by blurting out her secret on an already-tense night. After—after Lena had invented a device to make Kara solid again! After Lena had been so distressed by Kara’s reaction to the detection device that she was willing to actually make changes, because Kara _was_ her best friend and she _trusted_ her. And Kara shattered it all with her months of cowardice and then a stupid, bullheaded spur-of-the-moment _mistake._  

No. _No_. Kara can’t let herself think like this, doesn’t want to. She can’t let herself wonder if things would have been easier if she’d just bit her tongue and smiled. Pretended to be human for as long as it took. Pretended to like the detection device. She _can’t_ let herself do that, because this was supposed to be her moment of bravery, her time to make a difference, just like she’d always wanted. She _can’t_ let herself regret this, because she’s spent so long hiding away, hiding behind her sister or in her cousin’s shadow or even beneath the persona of goofy, all-around-average Kara Danvers. This had been her time to step up and speak her mind, and it… it isn’t _supposed_ to be easy. She can’t let herself wish she hadn’t spoken up, wish she still had the option to hide. No matter how much she wants to.

She wishes Lena could understand, would listen to where she’s coming from, but. But she can’t bring herself to be angry anymore. The wind blows through her face as she flies, icy against her tear-stained cheeks, and with a miserable, frustrated sigh, Kara lets herself drop back down to the city. She catches herself at the last moment and weaves around the taller buildings downtown. She can’t stand the thought of being alone any longer, and she hurtles towards the apartment of the family she’d once shadowed, before she met Lena.

But their apartment is empty. The lights off, some toys scattered along the floor.

She darts a few blocks away to another person she’d followed, a young woman who’d worked as a video editor. But when Kara spies through the walls she sees cardboard boxes stacked high, furniture wrapped up and pushed against the wall, and she feels herself falling for several long seconds before she remembers how to float.

She wants to go home. But… but she has nowhere to _go_. Nowhere she belongs. She’s lost and lonely and homeless again, a spirit adrift in the cruel, dim night.

Kara drifts slowly, aimlessly up toward the moon far overhead in the sky, its bright light teasing her with the promise of warmth. Far up enough, above the cloudline choking National City, the stars spread unabated above her.

Kara inhales shakily, and then it hits her—

 _No_ —

Her parents’ voices, as loud as ever, thrum against her head. _Ina kah, ina kah, ina kah._

“No!” She cries, covering her ears. No. Not tonight, not _now_. With a pained grimace, Kara turns midair and launches towards the nearest body of water—the National City Bay, where she’d… maybe it would be quiet in there.

Kara sucks a breath she doesn’t need as she plunges below the water’s surface. It’s cold—colder than the air overhead. But it envelopes her, muffling her parents’ voices, muffling the sounds of the bustling city. It’s quiet and dark and still, with the choppy water far above her.

Kara hugs her knees as she rests along the dirty bay floor, too upset to cry. It wasn’t fair. Lena couldn’t—Lena couldn’t be so angry with her. It wasn’t _fair_.

* * *

The darkness of the water all around her and the strange, distorted sounds catch up to Kara by daybreak. She pushes off from the ocean floor she can’t touch and hurtles towards the sky, wincing as the sun’s bright light hits her eyes for the first time in hours.

She can’t hide away forever. She knows that. Not when Lena’s her only connection to the real world. Not when Lena’s her closest friend. They… are still friends, right? She can only hope. Friends fight, but they could talk about it. Like adults. They _had_ to.

The lights in Lena’s condo are already on by the time Kara flies back. Taken longer than she perhaps needed to get there, but. She’s—she’s here now. She squints and finds Lena through the wall, sitting at her kitchen table, already dressed in her work clothes and nursing a cup of tea as she stares down absently at her tablet. At the notes and diagram she’d shown Kara the night before. Kara bites her lip, feels almost dizzy even as she hovers gently in place.

 _Now or never._ Kara takes a deep breath and passes through the wall and into Lena’s home.

Lena doesn’t move.

Kara clears her throat awkwardly, and Lena flinches. “Um. Hi?” Her voice wavers and she twists her fingers together anxiously.

After a moment, Lena beckons her closer with a lazy wave of her arm. “Sit,” she commands without looking up. So Kara does as best she can, hovering in the chair Lena kicks out for her.

A long moment passes, the silence only broken by Lena occasionally tapping the screen of her tablet. Kara clears her throat loudly, awkward. “Um,” she starts, and then cuts herself off with a sigh, biting her lip and playing with her hands nervously.

Lena’s the one to break the silence. “I’m not going to apologize.” she fixes her gaze upon Kara, her eyes red-rimmed and sunken. She looks… terrible. Like she hasn’t slept.

“Well, I’m not either,” Kara blurts out.

“Fine.” Lena’s eyes flash, and then soften. “I did promise to help you, though. And I meant it, even if you—I _meant_ it. I just, um, got off the phone with the head of R &D. I’ve reserved the secondary lab after-hours for us, so we can work on your corporeality device undisturbed.” She hesitates, her expression turning sour. “If… if that’s what you still want, that is. If you still want to be around me.”

“Yeah,” Kara sighs. “I…”

“I mean,” Lena continues, mirthless. “It’s not like you have any other options, right?”

“No, that’s not—Lena,” Kara sighs, lets her head hang forward. Tired. So tired of all this. She’s all raw edges and frayed nerves right now. “I don’t want to fight anymore,” she admits quietly, trying to soothe the angry churn of her stomach, looking down at her hands. “I don’t like fighting.”

Lena stays silent for a few minutes, avoiding Kara’s eyes. Every now and then, she carefully lifts her cup of tea and sips at it. And for just a moment, it feels so, so similar to all the previous, subdued workday breakfasts they’d shared together in comfortable silence. But still somehow wrong. Tense.

“It wasn’t right of me to kick you out,” Lena finally admits, setting her cup against the table with a loud clack. “I was angry, but… this is your home, too.”

Kara just shrugs, not wanting to poke at a clearly-fresh wound, and Lena sighs, brings a hand up to rub at her forehead.

“I’m _still_ angry, I guess,” Lena starts, her tone cautious. “Or, well. Hurt, rather. I—I don’t know how to feel, really. I don’t know if I really believe you… but it explains some things. Things that I’ve been wondering. And you _know_ I wouldn’t have been upset if you’d just been _honest_ from the beginning, Kara. Kara... is that even your…?”

“Yeah,” Kara swallows, feeling suddenly naked. She ignores Lena’s jab, tries instead to focus on her chance to finally share. “My name is Kara Zor-El.”

Her family’s name is holy on her tongue, so rarely spoken that it feels almost unreal; a sacred, almost forgotten prayer. It’s the first time she’s shared the name of her father with a human since she’d first met the Danvers, and finally, _finally_ having the opportunity to talk about the secrets she’d kept for so long feels somehow freeing, reminds her of the memory of the wind on her face when she’d sneak out at night to fly. “And I’m from a planet called—”

“I don’t want to know,” Lena interrupts her. “I’m not ready to know. I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh,” Kara swallows. Feeling grounded abruptly. Like she’d fallen out of the sky. This isn’t… the acceptance she’d craved. It’s not what she’d dreamed of—of finding someone who could empathize, maybe even someone who could _understand_ , at least in a way. But it was at the very least better than getting kicked out forever. “I’ve never told anyone before, Lena.”

“ _Anyone_?” Lena, despite herself, leans forward. “Not since—?”

“My cousin was already here when I landed,” Kara explains. “He brought me to some friends, the Danvers. He wanted me to have a… normal-type childhood. Like he did. And the Danvers… it wasn’t—isn’t—safe. So I wasn’t allowed to tell. _Anyone_. I didn’t—I _don’t_ want them to be targets.”

“Oh,” Lena blinks, surprised. “I, um, hadn’t… considered that. 

“Yeah, I know,” Kara bites out, harsher than she’d intended. She came here to try to make things right, but… but… “There’s a _lot_ you haven’t considered.” Kara turns to look at Lena. “You say you don’t want to be like your brother, but then you… you _say_ things that are so insensitive and—”

“I’m sorry if you were hurt,” Lena grits out, her tone the furthest from sympathetic, and Kara jerks away from her all at once. “I’m sorry that I’m not _evolved_ enough for you.”

“It’s not about evolution!” Kara argues, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s about _empathy_.”

Lena groans and drops her head into her hands. She combs her fingers through her dark hair, loosening knots and tugging lightly. Kara bites her lip as she watches, her stomach twisting itself into knots. She didn’t come back to _fight_ more, and she just wishes—wishes it could be over. That they could just pretend like it hadn’t happened. She hates feeling like an _alien_ , hates not feeling normal. She’s a _person._ She has _feelings_.

“Okay, right, you’re right,” Lena says finally, although the words feel somewhat empty. “Now, I have to leave for work. But, um, will you be here when I get back? We can… we can finish that movie from the other night, if you want…?”

Kara smiles weakly at her, waves her arm a bit. “Y-yeah,” she says, “That sounds—that sounds nice.” “I’m going to go on patrol, in the meantime. You know, heh, maybe keep an eye on that one food truck that always gets hit, right?”

“Sure,” Lena says, disinterested, and Kara slumps over as she watches Lena gather up her briefcase and phone. She’s _trying_. “I’ll be home by six. Have a… good day, Kara.”

“You too,” Kara says despite herself. Despite her anger and frustration.

Lena leaves without another word, and Kara leaves soon after.

* * *

“Wooden knight to D5,” Kara says, squinting down at the chessboard. She’d… tried to use her old names for chess pieces, the ones that used to make Lena groan and smile all pretty, but it felt wrong now. Lena had forced a smile, and Kara had dropped it. They were neck-and-neck at the end of a chess match, with only a few central pieces left. Lena had captured Kara’s queen, but Kara had both Lena’s rooks and bishops in exchange.

Things were… better now, a week after Lena had earnestly showed Kara the detection device. At least somewhat. Still uncomfortable, but less and less so as the days wore on. They had moments of cautious familiarity—little hints of the close companionship they’d shared before—broken up with moments of shattered tension and flared tempers. Of Kara staring just-too-long at Lena as she read her book before blurting out that she hadn’t _actually_ been thinking about releasing the detection device to market unrestricted, _had_ she? Or of Lena reminding Kara that she didn’t have to follow her around at work like a lost puppy, didn’t have to keep pretending to like ‘just another _Luthor_ ’. But. It was getting easier, even if Lena continued to resist Kara’s feeble attempts  to actually _talk_ about things. And earlier in the afternoon when Lena had tentatively asked Kara to play a game of chess with her, she’d all-but jumped at the opportunity.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Lena sighs dramatically, moving Kara’s piece with one hand and while tapping anxiously on the board with the other. She reaches for her own remaining knight and then hesitates, tracing her lower lip with her fingertips. After another silent moment, she moves a pawn to block Kara from taking her queen, exactly as Kara had hoped.

“Red pawn to F6!” Kara tries but quickly fails to hold back her smile. Lena, for her part, blanches as she moves the pawn with a dollop of glittery red nail polish to the space Kara indicated.

“No,” she mutters, staring intensely down at the board. “No, Kara! This is _unfair_!”

 _Unfair_. Kara’s stomach twists, and her face falls, feeling suddenly nervous. It had… it had been a joke between them, Lena’s bad sportsmanship. A funny exaggeration to mask Lena’s genuine inability to let herself be second best. But Kara’s not sure if she’s _allowed_ to laugh anymore, if she can float out of her chair or wiggle her fingers around inside Lena’s arm to tease her like she used to. She shrinks down a little in her seat, but Lena’s too distracted to notice—she just moves her knight with a resigned sigh, unblocking Kara’s rook.

Kara wins in three moves, and Lena groans in frustration and drops her head to the board, knocking over several of the pieces that had remained. They fall to the floor with a clatter, and Lena curses and bends to pick them up.

“These are family heirlooms,” she tells Kara, showing her the glass queen she’d used, a stark contrast to Kara’s own mismatched set. She sets the board up again. “Been in the Luthor family for generations.”

“Oh,” Kara winces. “Are they gonna be upset with all the nail polish?”

Lena snorts. “I hope so.” She smiles, conspiratorial. “You know there’s nothing I love to do more than give my family the middle finger. You know, the only thing worse than sullying a priceless heirloom with nail polish is playing with an—” Lena cuts herself off, the smile quickly dropping from her face.

 _With an alien_.

Kara gulps and waits for Lena to continue, but she just clamps her jaw shut and continues rearranging the pieces.

Kara shuffles awkwardly in her seat, the sudden silence hanging heavy over her head. “You know, you can say it,” she tries, tentative. Unsure if her gentle prodding would make it better or worse. It’s weird, to have her identity acknowledged like that. She’s never… really just _been_ an alien to any of her other friends, to anyone she’d known. It leaves her feeling weird and exposed. Laid out on the table in silent judgement. Nothing at all like the easy atmosphere she’d enjoyed with Alex, joking casually about Kara’s voracious alien appetite or her supposed ‘weird sci-fi calculator brain’. No. Instead, she was left feeling half hopeful that Lena would want to acknowledge her, and half-fearful of what that would mean. Was it worse to have her identity ignored or _judged_? Neither she nor Lena had spoken it aloud, but it hung heavy in the air, souring whatever tenuous closeness they’d begun to repair.

“Oh, I can say it,” Lena starts, her tone low, dull. “Fine. You _lied_ to me,” Lena sets the final pawn back in place and looks up at Kara with hurt eyes and a drawn brow.

Kara withers under her gaze. “I know…” She bites back her justifications, her excuses and her anger. “I’m sorry.”

Lena picks at a thread on the bottom of her sweatshirt. “I forget,” she whispers. “I forget. And then it hits me, and I can’t breathe.”

“We can talk about it,” Kara says. “Maybe it’ll feel better if we—”

“That’s okay,” Lena says quickly, turning away slightly, looking over at the clock on the wall. “Why make this worse for ourselves, you know?”

“I guess,” Kara mumbles. Normally, she’d rather just forget about it, too. She’s _never_ liked dealing with people being upset with her. And things… things like this usually just go away when she ignores them. But… how much longer is it going to take before things stop being so tense between the two of them? Lena gets up from the couch and shuffles to the kitchen, where she pours herself a glass of water.

“Oh! By the way!” Lena calls out with a somewhat stiff smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “The lab is almost ready for us to begin. So… we can get started on the corporeality device soon. Maybe by next Monday evening, even. I’m sure you’re excited.”

“Yeah!” Kara smiles, but it slides off her face almost immediately. She hates this—this ruse! Pretending like nothing had happened, like they hadn’t fought, like Lena didn’t know Kara’s most closely-held secret and hadn’t crushed it underfoot like some kind of _cockroach_ with disdain. Like Lena wasn’t _still_ upset, even though she clearly was. Like she wasn’t refusing to listen to Kara, refusing to acknowledge what she’d done, as well. It gives Kara no room for her emotions and makes her want to crawl out of her skin in frustration and listless energy.

* * *

“Well, here’s our lab,” Lena says. The week since she’d told Kara the lab was almost ready had crawled infuriatingly slowly, with Kara anxiously fidgeting whenever Lena walked through the door, trying to hold herself back from asking Lena about whether everything was ready yet for the _third_ time. But now the wait seems worth it; Lena gestures around the workshop with a proud grin, her earlier hesitation and awkwardness brushed away in the face of her excitement. “This is where we’ll be working on your corporeality device.”

Kara stares at the various monitors, workbenches and tools. It doesn’t look like she’d expected a lab to. Everything is silver metal, white plastic and ergonomic chairs, and Kara absently wonders if this is at all what Alex’s lab looks like. Although there’s some tools and unfamiliar parts lying out on one of the benches, the rest of the lab is empty except for the two of them. As Lena had joked, “for some reason, all the researchers just dash out right at five.” A small, lonely bag of takeout sits on a workbench near the window for later, in case Lena gets hungry working late into the night.

“We need to run some tests, first,” Lena says, bouncing a little on her toes. Clearly excited, more so than Kara’s seen in a while, but nervous as well. “I’m kicking myself for not dragging you here sooner.”

Kara fidgets. “That’s okay. I—I don’t like feeling like, um, a test subject.” Before the Danvers’ general ban on sci-fi in their house, Kara had snuck downstairs with Alex one night and sat beneath a blanket, watching with her hand clapped over her mouth and a sense of growing horror as an old movie with the volume turned down low showed two US government agents holding down an alien with big, black eyes and _cutting into it_. Ultimately, Kara had gotten the two of them caught by knocking over the couch after a particularly bad scare, Eliza had both grounded Alex and rushed to assure Kara that movies like that were just fiction, and Jeremiah had taken the opportunity to warn her _again_ to keep her identity hidden. Images like that are... hard to shake.

“Hm,” Lena purses her lips, clearly not impressed. Kara withers, embarrassed and a little angry at being judged. Lena boots up a computer and picks up a metal wand.

The rift created by the alien detection device and Kara’s reveal still lingers between them, awkwardly dovetailed between the remaining gaps of their mostly-mended friendship. At least, Kara hopes it’s mostly-mended. Lena’s… very difficult to read. Like she was when they first met, stoic and seemingly calm, the only indication of emotion a brief flare of her nostrils or ripple of her jaw, or maybe a sardonic quirk of her eyebrow. Kara had learned to read her, grown to understand every expression, no matter how fleeting or masked, but now she feels like a stranger. And Lena still refuses to talk about what had happened, even though sometimes Kara could practically _feel_ Lena staring through her! And if Kara ever tried to bring it up, she’d just… change the subject to something lighter. Which doesn’t help anything! Kara doesn’t know how to proceed, doesn’t know how to read the signals Lena is sending her, and so for the time being she tries to tell herself she’s giving Lena her space. Giving her time she needs to think. Hopefully, she’ll come around, won’t keep interrupting Kara’s needling about if she’s _really_ alright with a sharp demand to let her read her book.

“Um, Lena—Lena, what is that?”

“It’s a electromagnetic probe,” Lena says, adjusting a dial on the base. There’s a crackle as a spark of electricity runs the length of the wand. There’s a jolt of cold fear through Kara’s body as Lena nonchalantly waves the probe near her. “Here’s how we’re gonna start…”

* * *

 It takes a while to figure out how best to test Kara’s “tangible footprint,” as Lena had begun calling it. The incendiary spark in Lena’s eyes was both intimidating and electrifying, a light that drew Kara in even at the risk of being burned. She spoke rapidly all throughout the first two weeks, rattling off polysyllabic terms with a quirk of her mouth and a flourish of her hands as she modified machinery by feel alone, oblivious—whether purposefully or ignorantly—of Kara’s trepidation at being the center of such intense experimentation.    

Lena’s different in the lab. Kara struggles to pinpoint exactly how. She moves with self-assurance, like she knew where her body was and what it was supposed to do. Her fingers tap against her desk as she sits, unable to keep still for even a moment. Gone is the façade of false confidence that surrounds Lena in business meetings, the kind that polishes her words and her nails and her lips; gone is the sultry mask that dominates her conduct at professional, social functions, that smokes her eyes and arches her brows. Gone, even, is the bare, contemplative and precocious young woman Kara spent so many nights next to, who snorts when she laughs and speaks in her sleep and whose face used to light up any time Kara entered room.

In the lab, Lena is focused and serious, reticent as she has been since her fight with Kara; her eyebrows draw together, and there is always something in her mouth (a pencil, a pen, a stylus, her lip, even the end of her ponytail). She gets so absorbed in her work that she seems to forget Kara’s presence entirely, jerking back and blinking rapidly when Kara timidly interrupts her to ask a question.

One night, early on, Lena’s brusque veneer cracks. She’d invented something, a… generator, of sorts, that absorbs radiation. She built an oval-shaped container, lined inside with reflective metal and something else—something Kara’s X-Ray vision couldn’t penetrate.

Lena turns the device on and the electrical hum makes Kara’s stomach roll.

“Go on,” Lena says without looking up. “Get in.”

Kara wraps her arms around herself, staring at the metal box. It looks like… it looks like a casket, like the kind they had on Krypton. Like the kind they sent her khehthgr, her grandpa, into space with when she was very young. It looks like the pod she’d been stuck in for what felt like a lifetime, but blocked off from even being able to see outside.

“Um,” Kara mumbles, taking a stuttering breath while her heart threatens to beat out of her chest.

“Kara?” Lena asks, looking up suddenly and brushing her loose hair out of her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s…” Kara swallows. “I, um…"

“Is there a problem? Lena questions. After a moment, her eyes widen and her face softens. “Are you okay?”

“It’s dark in there,” Kara whispers. “I don’t like the dark.”

“Oh,” Lena blinks in surprise. “I didn’t think of that—sorry, I get so caught up, I forget how to be… conscientious.”

“I don’t like—I don’t like not being able to see,” Kara says pitifully, fearing Lena’s reaction. She was being so generous, devoting so much time to helping Kara, and now Kara couldn’t even—

“It’s okay,” Lena pushes up from the ground and stands close, closer than she’s been in weeks. “It’s just a quick test, to see if radiation affects your tangibility.”

Kara nods, searching Lena’s eyes with her own. The pod sits there, menacingly…

“You won’t be alone,” Lena swears, drawing her eyebrows together. “Do you want me to rig a speaker in there? So we can talk to each other?”

Kara nods, relief flooding her body. She’s still scared, but—but at least she won’t be alone.

Lena smiles awkwardly, but sweetly at her. She steps around Kara to pick through a box of electronics, pulling out a new set of wires to rig a speaker. “You can tell me more about Alex if you want,” she offers. “To distract you while you’re in there. What’s your favorite memory with her?”

A barrage of memories hit Kara in a flash, all at once. Too many to pick through, but the sudden nostalgia leaves her full of love. Alex is the strongest person Kara knows, and with a decade’s worth of stories on the tip of her tongue, Kara can be strong, too.

Lena’s walls begin to bleed away after that night. Her old spark returns; a warmth creeps into her eyes that makes Kara bite back a gasp. As they make tepid, staggering progress, Kara learns how to read Lena again. And, well. Lab-rat Lena is expressive, if you know where to look. Every point of her toes or quirk of her lips articulates her inner processes. She’s not that difficult to understand, with every emotion playing out on her face.

But there’s something brittle about her too, an underlying anxiety and perfectionism that makes her seem young and vulnerable. The way she keeps checking in with Kara, the way her voice trembles when she tries to explain something but couldn’t find the words, the way she nervously ends all her explanations with “... right?”, as if waiting for _Kara_ to lecture her on electrical currents, and the way her eyes burn when something malfunctions, the way she’s so quick to criticize her own efforts and ideas as being so _obviously_ wrong. Kara finds herself privy to a side of Lena seldom exposed, revealing a new depth to her brilliance and her insecurities.

Lab-rat Lena feels like her most genuine self and Kara is overwhelmed with the knowledge that she’s allowed to see her, even if things are still tense between them. They’re… building trust again—Lena is allowing Kara to see her this way. 

And Kara’s in awe. Even though she’s hurt, even though she’s frustrated that Lena won’t just talk—really _talk_ —to her, she readily admits that Lena’s a wonder. A visionary. She’s just… she’s so smart, so bright, and so funny when she lets her guard down. Kara can’t help but stare when she scrunches her face in victory after successfully setting up another test, the slow way her tongue flicks out to wet her bottom lip as she effortlessly reprograms a pressure sensor to test the air around Kara for disturbances.

It’s hard not to ache for Lena’s approval while she sits in front of her, patiently holding her arms out while Lena brushes an infrared scanner over her outstretched palms. It’s hard not to ache for Lena’s touch whenever she shifts closer to Kara, close enough to see the scar near her right eyebrow or the freckle on her chin, her silky hair slipping through Kara’s shoulder. It’s impossible not to feel joyful, appreciated and _seen_ when Lena finally, _finally_ smiles at one of her jokes, her eyes glittering all pretty in a way that makes Kara breathless.

But it’s not all easy: Kara is overwhelmed by the intensity of the testing. She’s been subjected to all sorts of glowing lights and magnetic fields and ‘probably safe…’ chemicals as Lena tried to track down something she can use to make Kara tangible again.

And so it goes, nearly every night for a few weeks. Late nights spent together in the lab with Lena waving an intimidatingly sharp device worryingly close to Kara’s face or asking Kara to ‘please put your hand inside this, just for a moment’. It quickly becomes a new routine.

One afternoon, Lena instructs Kara to stand behind a modified magnetic resonance imaging machine designed to pick up and analyze even the faintest energy output. How Lena had just... casually bought and reconfigured an MRI is beyond Kara’s comprehension.

(She’d asked, even! And Lena had just slowly raised an eyebrow and said if she told Kara she’d have to kill her.  
  
“But I’m already dead,” Kara had replied.

“Oh—I meant, I mean, I _didn’t_ mean, I—um, right, well, anyway, the test…” Lena’d stammered and turned to hide her face away, but Kara couldn’t help but smile. Things were getting better for them. Easier.)

Kara finally gives into Lena’s insistence and hesitantly floats horizontally inside the MRI. The machine is lined with lead, so her X-Ray vision is useless. And so she’s left blind inside the tube, accompanied only by the clanging and whirring all around her as well as her own claustrophobia. But—but Lena made sure the speaker was working before she’d even gotten there, so she wouldn’t be alone.

Despite her initial agreement to Lena’s suggestion, after some thought Kara’s realizes the tease of temporary corporeality frightens her. Although she’d initially relished the idea of being substantial again, and although she still longs for the simple comfort of touch she’s been without for so long now, she still feels an instinctive aversion to the technology. It’s… tempting fate. She _knows_ what comes of using science to play God, and although temporary tangibility is a far step below complete planet-alteration, she still feels a sense of dread that interfering with her journey to Rao could cause nothing but problems. And if the machine failed, she would either be joining her parents without getting to say goodbye to Alex or cutting off the allure of Rao’s light altogether. Both ideas were abhorrent. And if the machine worked… well, Kara doesn’t even know what that would mean.

Being alive again, even if only temporarily, would present another set of challenges. How would Kara handle her newfound strength? She’s forgotten what it was like to try to temper herself, forgotten the feeling of having to consider each and every step she took so as not to put her foot through the floor. Would it be like when she first arrived on Earth again, skittish and clumsy like a colt, afraid to touch anything for fear of crushing it? Would her opacity and clumsiness make Lena _fear_ her? She… she already fears her, although she’d certainly deny it. Fears Kara enough that she doesn’t want to hear about her being different, abnormal. And if Kara’s _dangerous_? Kara doesn’t think she can handle Lena being truly _afraid_ of her, physically.

But… if Lena’s plan was successful, Kara could eat again. She could take a warm shower. And sleep. And hold things: books, tablets, chairs, blankets, _Lena_.

Would she be able to restrain herself from doing something impulsive?

She used to have such good restraint.

The machine stops, and Lena’s voice crackles over the speaker. “Kara, come here!” she calls, excited. “I got a reading! I—I can see you through the machine!”

“What!? No way!” Kara phases out of the machine, leaving her worries to collect dust. Right now, there was proof of her existence to see, staring at her from Lena’s computer screen. A faint outline, blurry against the black background, almost indistinguishable. But it was there, it was _Kara!_ It really was! Lena did it!  

“I—I… thank you, Lena,” Kara breathes, awestruck.

Lena blushes, pleased. She smiles up at Kara, and for the first time in weeks it reaches her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a friendly reminder that Kara and Lena's journey is far from complete. This was a big hurdle to clear and the fallout isn't going to be neat and pretty, but they love each other and are already working on building a healthier, stronger relationship that will carry them far into the future. 
> 
> (Another friendly reminder: I really love reading comments!)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! It's been a hot minute! I'm back now! With a 17,000 word chapter! 
> 
> My betas and I call it the hell chapter because it was the longest and most technically challenging (so far). I rewrote it at least 6 times, and every time I thought I was done with a draft we'd wind up circling back and having to do the whole thing over again. But I'm pleased with the end result and hope you are too. I had. A lot of feelings. And this wasn't even all of them—a bunch of stuff got moved to Chapter 10. 
> 
> If you reviewed the last chapter: thank you so much!!! Your encouragement keeps me going as I'm sloughing through endless rewrites and am ready to give up. Keep an eye out for an individual response if you reviewed recently and I haven't already responded. 
> 
> The HUGEST of thank yous to my betas, Alex (blatant_sock_account) and Kal (MsSirEy), for everything. There would be no ghost!Kara without them. Their insight and support are absolutely vital and they're such good sports about investing so much time and energy into this project. 
> 
> Questions? Comments? Concerns? Come yell at me on tumblr @burnslikeabluedream and please keep reviewing if you're so inclined. I really appreciate it!

“Okay. So—” Lena cuts herself off with a grunt as she hefts what appears to be a metal and glass cylinder the size of an office trash can between her knees, letting it settle back onto the floor with a _clang_. “The human body produces electricity, right? Every nerve impulse, every movement or thought—we’re a symphony of electronic signals transmitted through neural networks.” She pries off the top of the device, exposing a series of wires and circuitry.

Kara nods, drifting in lazy circles around Lena as she watches her tinker with the unfamiliar device. She kicks her right leg so that it brushes toes-first through the floor.

Lena sets the lid of the machine carefully down and hunches over in her seat to inspect the wiring with a small frown. “So, even though you’re an... um, an alien and immaterial, you still give off faint electronic signals.”

“Yeah, like we saw with the MRI and all those other tests,” Kara adds. Gently dancing around the awkward, clumsy way Lena trips over the word _alien_. It… doesn’t matter.

Lena flashes her a grin.

“Exactly. So what _this_ will do,” Lena drops her eyes back down to the device, rubbing the rim of the cylinder with a clear sense of pride in her work, “is use the detection technology that we used in the MRI to figure out where you are and then centralize your atomic energy. It’s, um, well, hm. You know how you can apply pressure to objects in a gaseous phase to turn them into solids while skipping the liquid phase entirely? It’s, um, sort of like that. But... sort of not—um...”  

“Don’t worry, I got it,” Kara assures Lena as she continues to slowly wind circles around her. From the corner of her eye, Kara notices Lena stop in the middle of wrapping a small cluster of wires around a metal rod to stare up at Kara with a shocked expression. Her forehead wrinkles and her mouth opens slightly, as if to ask a question, before she shakes her head, as if chasing the thought away. Kara shrugs, and after another brief moment Lena resumes her work on the device. Her deft fingers peel back a strip of pink polymer insulation so that she can tightly weave the wire through a piece of netting.

Kara smiles a bit to herself as she watches. Earth technology looks so fun, so unlike the smooth, angular insides of the machinery she’d clumsily taken apart as a child. Lena’s device reminds her of a jigsaw puzzle, almost, with copper wires and silicon squares connecting all the pieces perfectly together. She’s struck with the idle thought of what her father would think of a device like this. Primitive and crude, but innovative. Resourceful.

Lena’s voice shakes Kara from her thoughts. “Okay, well, then the second part will use the black body field generator I’ve been toying with.” She tentatively lets go of the wire she was holding and smirks triumphantly down at the device when it stays in its proper place, unaware of the way Kara’s gaze carefully follows her hands as she tinkers.

“Black body is like a force field that causes thermodynamic equilibrium, right?” Kara asks, sinking down to the ground as if being closer to the device could shield her from her more despondent thoughts.

Around Lena, Kara uses parts of her brain that she hadn’t in years, re-learning words and concepts that she hasn’t thought of since she was a child. Between the two of them, Alex was always the one who gravitated toward science. Kara, on the other hand, hadn’t really gravitated toward anything, at least at first. Her passion for science had been… another lifetime. Another world. But even then, Alex’s interest had always leaned towards biomedicine, like Eliza. Lena was more interested in quantum engineering, or ‘rocking her nerd heart by combining theoretical possibility with practical applications’, as she called it. And although the juvenile science courses Kara had to take in the years after she’d first landed had left her feeling homesick and miserable, she’s come to enjoy keeping Lena company while she works. Kara likes remembering things that feel more like a muscle memory or a dream than anything concrete—just the way she’d used to do with Alex, before she started getting more private about her studies during college.

“Exactly!” Lena nods, excited to be sharing the details of her invention with someone. “It equalizes the level of electromagnetic radiation in the surrounding area.”

“Cool,” Kara hums, drifting closer to watch as Lena fiddles with a small circuit.

“Yeah, cool,” Lena plucks at a stray wire, frowns, and grabs a pair of pliers.  “So,” she continues, raising an eyebrow, “what’s the first thing you want to do when you’re corporeal?”

A spark of excitement jolts through Kara’s chest. Corporeal! She’s going to be _solid_ soon! She flaps her hands twice and then clasps them in front of her chest, before kicking her way to float up above Lena’s head. There are so many things she’ll be able to do when she’s solid! She’ll be able to walk and feel the breeze and _eat_ and _shower_ and _touch_ things. Lena’s going to make her real! It’s so cool and wonderful and amazing, and Kara’s so, so lucky to have someone as smart and talented as Lena helping her!

Except—except that’s not why they’re doing this. Not really. The… the whole _point_ is to make sure that she’ll have a way to talk to Alex once they find her. Because after a year, they still have nothing: no new leads, no idea of where Alex is and no clue how to find her. The machine will be the only progress they’ve made. Even though Kara will enjoy the distractions her short-lived corporeality can offer, will enjoy allowing herself to get caught up in the consolation prize of temporary half-life and the luxuries it affords, she knows she can’t let herself forget its true purpose.

She needs to focus. She… she’s already dead. Her time has passed. This machine… it won’t be able to bring her back to life. It’s just a temporary solution. A bandage over a deeper wound. Whatever benefits Kara reaps from being solid are just a distraction from her helplessness and frustration. The only genuine source of peace for her now is to return home, to find her family in Rao’s light once again. To do that, she needs Alex. To do that, she needs to be able to speak with Alex when they find her.

Although it’s not like being solid will help them _find_ Alex. That’s… that’s something Kara doesn’t even begin to know how to deal with. The longer their search draws on, the more helpless the whole situation seems. And she… she doesn’t know _how_ —

“Kara?” When Kara looks up, Lena’s watching her again, a strange expression on her face. Almost… hesitant. “Are you, um—” she stutters, and looks down at the device. “I mean, I sort of thought you’d be a bit more excited about this…?” She offers Kara a little half-smile, thin and pleading.

Kara tries to return the expression, but it falls flat. “It, um. It won’t be permanent, right?” Kara asks, her heart panging sharply in her chest. “I—I’m just… I don’t want to be stuck.”

“I-I can’t promise anything,” Lena says, tensing her shoulders, , tightening her hands against the machine until her knuckles turn white. “I really wish I could, Kara. But-but this is all experimental, and since this is all… so _new_ , um _._ Hypothetically, without a physical body to connect you to, the generator should snap you in and out of transience. It’ll last only as long as the charge lasts. A few hours at most… maybe. Assuming all goes well.”

Kara exhales, the tightness in her chest easing a bit.

“But,” Lena fidgets with her hands, “we don’t _have_ to do this, Kara. If you’re having second thoughts, we can—”

“It’s okay!” Kara is quick to reassure her. “You’ve put in so much work, and it _is_ the best way for me to talk to Alex again, whenever we find her, and—and I really _am_ excited to be solid again! To, um, to touch everything. And eat. And shower! Ooh, I miss showering.”

Lena laughs, the tension visibly draining from her shoulders as if wrung from a washcloth. “Well, good. I mean, the only shower in the lab is for chemical spills, and I can say from experience it’s not exactly _refreshing_. But, well, what food will you want? You could go to the condo and shower while I pick something up.”

Kara freezes in place, the world suddenly spinning around her. “You mean… you mean _right now_?” She… she’s going to—is she going to be—? _Already?_ But they’ve only just— She’s not _ready._ What will she _do_? She has to—has to do _something_. And… and what about Alex? What about _Lena?_

Lena’s smile fades in the face of Kara’s obvious wave of panic. “Well, I, um. Not _tonight_. I still need to see if the tertiary circuit is working, and then apply it to the field...”

“O-oh...” Kara says, swallowing a strange mixture of disappointment and relief. She _will_ be solid again. She knows she will—she knows they’re so close. She’s going to be real again, and she couldn’t be more excited. That’s what the feeling in her chest means, right? The tightness, the twisting, because she’s about to be _real_ and she has nothing in this life anymore: no money, no apartment, no family and friends she wants to destroy with her sudden appearance and disappearance. Just a best—just a friend she can’t read, can’t tell if she’s still hurting, can’t tell if she’s mad, can’t tell if she’s going to resent Kara and if once Kara’s real she’s going to realize that she doesn’t want her around anymore. Because Lena’s already been so generous, and when Kara’s solid she’s going to need somewhere to rest, something to eat—

No! No, she can’t think like that! Lena doesn’t—Lena isn’t—everything is still all wrong! This isn’t… isn’t…

And—and she just wants to go home. Without being haunted by a bright smile and green, green eyes. Hasn’t she already put Lena through enough without… without burdening her _more_?

“Sorry,” Lena offers, hesitant and awkward. “I didn’t mean to get your hopes up. Um, it’ll be ready soon. I promise, Kara.”

“I know,” Kara lifts herself in the air and turns upright, facing Lena properly. “I trust you. I’m just impatient!”

Lena laughs. “My brother always had this thing he’d say to me when we were kids. ‘Patience is bitter, but the fruit is sweet.’ I mean, Jean-Jacques Rousseau came up with it first, of course. But Lex would always tell me that when I was practically bursting out of my skin waiting to test a piece of code or finish an experiment.” She smiles a little to herself, her eyes looking at something far away. “After a while I started to find that saying just as annoying as the waiting,” she chuckles, weak and bittersweet. “But now, well. I guess it’s grown on me.”

“Huh,” Kara frowns, gently rubbing at the side of her face. She tries to picture the scene, to picture a young Lena tugging at her brother’s sleeve, too excited about the results of the lab experiment to let the solute diffuse fully. But it’s hard. Hard to imagine the intelligent woman she knows today as an impatient child. Harder still to imagine _Lex Luthor_ as anything other than—than a murderer. “You seem pretty patient to me.”

Lena tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles sadly at Kara, looking somehow much older and much younger than she really is.

“Uh.” Kara stutters, feeling awkward and out of place. It’s always hard to know what to say during moments like this, when Lena gets soft and vulnerable and Kara’s at a loss for words. She always wants to learn more—she craves it—but she often finds herself shocked into silence. She doesn’t know what to say when Lena shares loving stories about her brother. She knows even less what to say when Lena makes a passing mention to Lex’s descent into madness, and how hopeless she felt trying to bargain with someone whose grip on reality had failed. Kara can’t bring herself to share in Lena’s nostalgia about the man who tried to kill her cousin before trying to eliminate entire species. But at the same time she appreciates Lena’s trust and the chance to have a small glimpse into her life, at what had sculpted her into becoming the person she is today.

But Lena must pick up on Kara’s discomfort, as she always does when Kara hesitates for too long, because after another few seconds she jerks upright in her seat, nearly knocking over the machine held between her legs. “Not that—I mean, um—I… I don’t stand by anything he’s—it’s just, when we were _children_ , and-and...”

Kara winces, turns herself subtly in the hope that Lena won’t notice her expression. “It’s fine,” she says, fighting to keep her voice steady even as her heart starts to race in her chest, even as she’s swept over by an inexplicable wave of panic. “Really, it’s fine. I know… what you mean. You don’t have to justify yourself to me.”

“It’s difficult,” Lena explains, biting her lip before turning away from Kara completely to search her workbench. “People just _expect_ —because of my name. But I don’t… know the right thing to say. _Especially_ about Lex. Because, well, I—I _know_ what he did. But... I grew up with him—he was there for so much of my life, and he was the one good—and I can’t just not...”

She spends longer than usual staring at the messily arranged tools on her bench before finally grabbing a worn, old pair of red pliers.

When Lena turns back, she avoids Kara’s gaze, hanging her head low and letting her hair fall down over her face as she bends to fix a piece of circuitry that had come loose. Kara watches her in silence, with only the noise of the air conditioner and two quick clinks from the device as Lena expertly tightens the faulty part. Once finished, Lena remains bowed, her breathing shaky and rough. Kara’s about to clear her throat when Lena finally straightens, flipping her hair back as she looks cautiously up at Kara. As if expecting guidance or… or reassurance. As if Kara can give her whatever comfort she’s seeking.

Kara smiles at her, but tension remains in her cheeks, weighing down her grin. She’s hit with a dual sense of loss: both the easy camaraderie she enjoyed with Lena before she found out and Alex’s funny way of acknowledging Kara’s heritage and abilities with such warmth and familiarity that she’d felt nothing but acceptance. All the times when Alex would beg her to use her heat vision to heat the rest of the takeout when she was too lazy to get up, or arm-wrestling with her to pick the movie for that night and griping about how Kara _cheated_ whenever Kara didn’t let Alex win, or lightly teasing Kara about the time she shattered her phone in excitement after seeing a picture of a pug wearing a raincoat.

Instead, the truth about Kara’s identity hangs between her and Lena, heavy and harsh. She misses the easygoing interactions and closeness they had shared. A part of her even shamefully craves that simplicity once again, at any cost. But she shoves that urge away and instead lets herself sink slowly until her feet touch the floor beneath her, clears her throat, and says, “You know, um. You can just… talk to me, like before. I haven’t changed. I’m still... me.”

Lena lowers her head a bit to hide her blush, cradling her elbow in one hand while the other cups her neck. “Right, um… thank you,” she says slowly, precisely, her eyes flickering between Kara’s face and the wall to her left. “I’m sorry. I’m not perfect. I-I’ve never had to...”

Kara runs her tongue over her teeth, shifting back and forth. Tries to bite back her annoyance at the comment. Because, no, Lena _isn’t_ perfect. She isn’t ready to even _listen_! To try to understand the actual sources of Kara’s discomfort rather than tripping over herself to half-apologize-half-defend-herself, rather than tiptoeing around any mention of Kara’s identity in a way that made her feel more like an _alien_ than any of Alex’s bad alien jokes ever had. Making her feel like… like she was _responsible_ for telling Lena everything was okay, when it’s—it’s...

“It’s really okay,” Kara says through gritted teeth. “Why don’t we listen to some music now?”

“But I—sure,” Lena clears her throat and opens up the music app on her tablet. Kara closes her eyes as something light and jazzy begins to play, although it does little to placate the frustration bubbling just under the surface.

* * *

True to Lena’s word, it’s only a few more days of work before she proudly sets the corporeality device down in between them on the floor of her lab, looking up at Kara with a gleeful expression, all bright eyes and wide smiles. Just that morning she’d had a breakthrough, and had rushed out in such a hurry that her half-filled coffee cup lay abandoned on the kitchen table. At first, Kara had begged Lena not to work over the weekend or on Friday nights. Her evening time during the week was already more than enough, she’d insisted. But now, when it seems that Kara is _so_ close to being solid again that she can practically feel it, she acquiesces and allows herself to be led to the lab like a balloon on a string.

“Are you ready?” Lena asks, her eyes sparkling. The air is crackling with possibility, like the unnatural suspense that lingers right before a thunderstorm. It is electric. Anticipatory. Even dangerous.

“Y-yeah,” Kara says, taking a deep, shuddering breath.  “Yes. I’m ready.” And she is. She _is_ , even though her heart feels as if it could beat right through her chest at any moment. She’s ready. It’s just… so much could change with this moment, for better or for worse. And Kara’s not sure what lies on the other side of possibility. Would things be even _more_ awkward between her and Lena? Would she have forgotten how to control herself completely? It’s been so long since she’s had to think of managing her strength, of being careful with her movements. What if she… what if she _frightened_ Lena?

Or—or what if something goes wrong with the machine? What if she disappears forever? What if, by building the device, Lena was condemn—

“Well,” Lena states, interrupting Kara’s internal monologue. Her hands are shaking; a slip in her confident demeanor from earlier in the afternoon. “Let’s hope it works, then.”

She screws on the top of the generator and taps at it twice to make sure it’s secure. Her sharp, clear eyes turn soft for a moment when they meet Kara’s, before she drops her gaze back to the machine and lets out a deep, determined sigh.

Kara stands up, holding her arms stiff and awkward at her sides, fingers curling and uncurling nervously against her palm. She takes in a deep breath of her own—a mimic of Lena’s—and breathes out slowly. It’s a risk, she knows—they’ve discussed the possible side effects so many times together—but she needs this.  

With no fanfare, Lena pushes a button on the side of the device that glows red first, then green. With her lip caught between her teeth and a little focused frown on her face, she flips a switch that causes the machine to let out some sort of mechanical hum. Within a second, the ends of her hair drift to the side, trying to cling to the static.. Kara laughs at the absurdity, feeling light and hopeful as Lena looks up at her and says, “Three… two—”

A jolt zings through Kara’s body like a lightning strike, leaving a brief burst of warmth that ripples throughout her., Her skin tingles for a split second—feels… it _feels_ —but just as suddenly as it starts, the generator pops. The feeling fades away as she’s quickly returned to nothing but air, replaced once again with the unfortunately familiar sensation of unnatural chill. The smell of burning plastic fills the room.

“Fuck,” Lena coughs, turning the device off and kicking it away from them. “ _Fuck_.”

It… it failed. Kara thought she felt—but, no, it failed. Her legs buckle beneath her, and she lowers herself to the floor with her shoulders slumped. Disappointment makes her leaden. Heavy, but not in the right way—she’s no more solid than the smoke drifting out of the machine rolling towards the far corner of the room. _So close._

With a frustrated growl, Lena lurches up and stumbles over to a control panel on the wall. She chooses a setting that starts up a fan, which whisks the dark smoke away.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Lena says again into her sleeve, her voice rough and low. It’s clear even through the thinning smoke that her eyes are watering, and Kara’s heart aches. For herself, for Lena, for everything.

“It’s okay,” Kara says, standing unsteadily before floating over to Lena, reaching towards her. “You tried your best.” Her words are hollow; her sincerity can’t hide her obvious disappointment, and she worries that in this moment her optimism will come across as patronizing. “What do you think went wrong? How can we learn from this so that next time—”

“Not now!” Lena spits, walking determinedly through Kara’s outstretched arm, not even acknowledging her attempt at comfort. “I can _fix_ it! I just need to figure out—” She stalks over to her workstation and grabs her tablet, ruthlessly slamming it down on the desk as she begins to review the results of the first test. Her actions remain just as measured and precise as before, but now they’ve become unnecessarily forceful, a tidal wave of rage building up in her tensed shoulders and flared nostrils. Lena’s reaction to failure is graceless, full of self-flagellation that anyone standing too close will be caught on the edges of.

Kara drifts hesitantly closer to the workbench. “Um, do you want to talk it through?”  
  
“ _No_.” Lena groans in frustration, hunching over herself at the desk and turning further away from Kara. “Just… just give me a minute.”

Kara shrinks into herself and nervously fusses with her hands, stinging hot and embarrassed from Lena’s obvious rejection. Afraid to provoke her, afraid that Lena’s somehow angry at _her_.

“I can make this work,” Lena mutters to herself, lowering her head and pulling the tablet to her stomach. “I _can_. I just need—I can fix it! I _have_ to.” She curls her fingers around the tablet so hard that Kara sees her knuckles turn white, sees her arms begin to shake. “It was supposed to _work_! Why can’t I just get it fucking _right!? Shit!_ ” She huffs out an annoyed breath, her cheeks flushed pink. “It _has_ to work,” her voice cracks a bit as she curses again at her tablet. “It should have worked!”

“And it _will_ ,” Kara soothes automatically, hoping to jump in while Lena is receptive, to tamp down her disappointment.  “I believe in you, Lena.”

Lena grinds her teeth, refusing to meet Kara’s eyes. Her flush spreads from her cheeks down to her nose and neck as she holds her breath, as if she thought Kara would just… go away if she stood perfectly still.

Kara risks drifting a little close. “This was only your first attempt,” she says quietly, pushing down her own heartache to focus on helping her friend. “And, like, things don’t usually work on the first try. So, I mean, it’s really not a big deal.” She reaches her hand out to hover just over Lena’s back. “And-and there’s no rush, you know? No need to beat yourself up about fixing it now. We could take a break, maybe go get some dinner—”

“Could you just _be quiet!?_ ” Lena spins in her chair to face Kara with a glare, her eyes watering and red. “I’m trying to _think!_ ”

“Wh-what?” Kara stutters, drawing her hand close to her chest. Shocked. Taken aback. She was just trying to— “Sorry, Lena, I was just saying that—”

“ _Seriously!_ ” Lena rubs at her temple, blinks her eyes quickly. “I need to figure out what I did wrong, and I can’t do that when you’re _fucking_ talking!”

“Oh-oh… I—” Kara swallows and blinks hard. Her cheeks burn hot and her eyes sting with tears. “R-right.” She’s stupid, an idiot. Annoying. And _Lena—_ Lena’s so—why is she— “Okay. I’ll, um. I’ll just leave.”

And despite it all Kara still finds herself half-hoping that Lena will turn around, will say: “No, it’s okay, I’m sorry for snapping at you.” Will apologize for being such a… for being so awful. But as Kara drifts towards the wall of the lab, her arm already phasing into the side, all Lena does is hunch further down over her tablet, content to ignore the embarrassingly loud sniffle Kara hadn’t quite been able to keep in.

With a final glance backward, Kara reluctantly floats through the laboratory wall and emerges into the chilly evening breeze just above the city. She wipes roughly at her cheek—because she’s _not_ going to cry about this! She didn’t do anything wrong!—and turns to peer back into the lab, guilt heavy in her stomach as she infringes upon Lena’s privacy by spying on her.

Lena’s back to working on her tablet, her jaw tense and her back rigid. “I’m so _stupid_!” she hisses abruptly down at the tablet, jabbing her finger at the screen. “How the hell did I mess _this_ up, it’s _simple! Damnit!_ ” Kara worries her bottom lip as she watches Lena stew in the aftermath of her meltdown for a few minutes longer before turning and flying back to the apartment, wishing she’d just. Just been allowed to _help_. That’s all she’d wanted to do! It’s not fair! 

‘Cause it’s not like Kara isn’t disappointed too! It’s a device to make _her_ corporeal, after all. It was her only shot at being solid again, at being able to touch and eat and talk to people besides Lena. At being able to talk to Alex. And _she_ wasn’t angry that it hadn’t worked! She was _fine_. So what if it doesn’t work the first try?! Nobody had gotten hurt by the malfunction, so they could just give it another go later on! So, no, of course she wasn’t all that upset that things hadn’t gone to plan this time around. She’s just.

She’s just hurt by Lena’s reaction.

And rightfully so! Sometimes… sometimes Lena could just be so—

Kara flies through the wall and into Lena’s empty, dark apartment. She settles on the couch and sits in silence, unable to even turn on the TV to distract herself.

* * *

 

The hours pass excruciatingly slow, and by the time Lena steps silently into the apartment late into the night, Kara still hasn’t moved an inch. Lena glances over in her direction and offers Kara a stiff smile, but she’s clearly still tense, her back overly rigid and her cheeks red. She holds a white box in one hand, poorly hidden beneath her jacket.

“I, um,” Lena hesitates, swallows. “I think I know what went wrong. With the—with the device.” And although her tone remains soft, almost timid, she’s betrayed by the terse set of her jaw. She sets her belongings on the kitchen table. “There was too much power going to the corporeality device, and it overloaded the system when I engaged the generator.”

“Oh.” Kara continues to watch Lena from her place on the couch as she grabs a worn multi-tool from her purse and slides a small knife out so that she can slit the sides of the package.  “Well, okay.” There’s nothing else to say.

“We can try again tomorrow,” Lena mumbles, her focus directed on the box in front of her. “Or—or the next day. Whatever you want.”

Kara shrugs. Doesn’t bother with a response. Lena had been mean, and she doesn’t feel like just glazing over that. She flexes her hands against her legs and her muscles twitch. She could leave. Spend the night somewhere else instead of suffering through the tension. Lena _clearly_ doesn’t want to see her. Kara crouches in preparation, but her flight is interrupted when Lena gingerly takes out two long objects and begins to peel the protective wrapping off of them.

“I got... candlesticks,” Lena says, biting her cheek nervously. “I enjoyed lighting candles with you before, for Hanukkah,  and, um, I’ve been reading. About Judaism. And, um, Shabbat. And I thought—I thought it might be nice to light candles sometimes, if you want. I wasn’t sure if you, um. _Well_ , since it’s Friday…” She trails off and holds out the silver candlesticks, smiling at Kara, shy and hesitant.

Kara frowns, refusing to look at Lena’s outstretched hands. “Are you just… going to ignore it?”

“Um,” Lena sets the candlesticks down on the table clumsily, wincing as they clatter against the glass. “I—I’m not… I just… I—” She gestures vaguely at the table before bringing her arms rigid to her sides, her fingers clenched into fists. “I thought… um…”

“That wasn’t fair,” Kara interrupts, floating up from the couch and towards the kitchen. She feels mean, watching as Lena’s hopeful face crumples into a mess of nerves, because—because maybe she’s making too a big deal about it. Lena’s trying to move on. But, no—it _wasn’t_ fair. She won’t just… pretend it didn’t happen! Won’t accommodate Lena’s tantrums and refusal to act like an adult about it!

“I was disappointed too, you know. I mean, maybe you forgot, but it’s _my_ life!” Kara says, harsher than she’d intended. She flinches when Lena winces away, trying to make herself smaller, and Kara stops herself to take a deep breath before she continues, “So—so I know how you felt, is what I’m saying. But that doesn’t give you permission to bite my head off. And you don’t get to just ignore that by bribing me.”

Lena’s silent for a moment before finally she lowers her eyes and nods. “You’re… you’re right, Kara. I just—” She takes a small step backwards, and then another, backing herself up against the nearest wall. “I got frustrated, and—and I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?” Kara prompts when Lena falls silent.

Lena laughs self-consciously, the bitter sound cutting through Kara. “Didn’t want you to be nice to me, I guess.” She offers Kara a helpless, wry smile and wipes at her blotchy cheeks. “Not after I failed.”

“That’s what friends do, Lena,” Kara says, trying to relax her posture, concentrating on each needless breath she takes. “Scratch that. That’s what nice people do.”

Lena scoffs, her smile growing a bit more gentle, a bit more familiar. “I’m not used to that.”

“It shows,” Kara blurts out before she can help herself.

In a moment, the smile is gone. “I’m well-aware, thanks.”

Lena avoids meeting Kara’s gaze, instead biting her nail and staring at a spot on the floor. Finally, she sighs and steps cautiously away from the wall, back towards the kitchen table.

“I can, um...” Lena sighs and sets the candlesticks back in the box slowly, one by one. “I can take them back…”

Kara groans, rubs at her temple with her hand. “It’s not _about_ that, Lena. I just want to _talk!_ ”

“Fine. Let’s talk, then.” Lena roots through her purse for her tablet and opens it without looking at Kara. “If you have any notes about the failed test, I’d like them. It’ll help me with the next one.”

“Fine,” Kara echoes, crossing her arms, still hurt, still frustrated, Lena still missing the point.

Lena sits down at the table, not offering Kara a second glance. “Can you describe what the process felt like from when I turned the device on to when it started smoking?”

“I felt a tingle,” Kara replies with equal brusqueness.

“A tingle?” Lena repeats, her fingers poised over the tablet. “You felt a tingle?”

“For just a second,” Kara mumbles, suddenly nervous. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no—that’s a good sign. Did you feel the tingle when the machine first turned on, or was it only a reaction to the short-circuit?”

“Um,” Kara wracks her brain. “I don’t know—it happened so quick.”

“Oh.” Lena’s face falls, but her expression is quickly replaced with a plastered-on smile. “Well, that’s okay. It’s a good sign, at least. Thank you, Kara.”

“Don’t mention it,” Kara mumbles, clenching her fists by her side.

Lena shifts around, tapping at the tablet for a few minutes longer before finally setting it back in her purse. Kara watches her sit, poised and still like marble, at the table in silence for what seems like ages before the tension between them overwhelms her, before she breaks.

“You know,” Kara blurts out, all-too-aware of the way Lena immediately stiffens at her tone, “I understand that you were frustrated. I was too. But you could at least—at least _apologize_!”

Lena stares at the table for a long moment before swallowing thickly. “I—I’m sorry,” she says, her hands clenched into tight fists and her gaze turned downwards. The words stutter out of her mouth awkwardly, as if she’s working her way around a new language that’s still clumsy on her tongue. “I’ll… do better in the future.”

“Thank you,” Kara says, flipping her hands over and stretching them out towards Lena. “I’m sorry for being mean, too.”

Lena shakes her head and chuckles, although she still won’t look up at Kara.

“I’m your friend, Lena,” Kara says, carefully emphasizing her words and moving so that she could catch Lena’s evasive eye. “I _mean_ it. I’m here to help you. I’m here to support you.”

Lena shivers as Kara moves closer. She rubs her face with her hands, sighing deeply. “I thought… I guess I thought that you were upset with me,” she admits in voice that is ragged and soft, like it’s coming from the back of her throat. “I guess I got… defensive.”

“No!” Kara answers in a rush. “I was just—I _was_ disappointed, but I know you’re doing your best, Lena. I’ve never doubted that!”

Lena’s cheeks turn rosy, and her eyes glisten with built-up tears.

“If anyone can do it, you can,” Kara says, reaching out cautiously and curling her fingers through Lena’s shoulder. Lena blushes harder as she turns to avoid Kara’s gaze.

“I don’t know about that,” she admits, tensing up. As if Kara… as if Kara would be angry at her for the admission. “This is unlike anything I’ve ever done. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen done.”

“That’s what everyone who invents something new and great says,” Kara reminds her, stepping back and dropping her hand.

Lena runs her fingers through her hair, her face pensive and stormy. Kara almost asks, but decides against it; some of Lena’s dark moods are better left unturned. “It was sweet of you to get the candlesticks,” she says instead, turning her head to catch Lena’s sudden, pleased expression. “I haven’t lit them in _years_.”

“No?” Lena asks, a shy smile spreading across her face while she leans forward in her seat, soaking in the praise. “It seems nice. Peaceful.”

“Yeah,” Kara laughs. “It is.”

“Do you want to light them now?” Lena asks, reaching for the box. Kara considers it.

“No,” she says, finally. “Not right now, not when I’m still—not tonight.”

“Oh,” Lena says, deflating. She pulls her hand away and tucks it under her arm, crossing her arms over her chest.

“But another night! I’d really like to!” Kara rushes to finish. “It’s sweet that you got them, and I think it would be nice to light them with you.”

Lena grins, lopsided and hopeful. “Soon?”

“Yeah, soon,” Kara agrees. “For sure.”

Lena tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles, and it makes Kara’s heart feel all full and giddy.

* * *

Less than a week later, the second test begins much like the first. A promising tingle, a burst of light, and then… nothing. This time, at least, the machine doesn’t smoke. It just sits there, dark, taunting Kara and Lena with its refusal to boot up again.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Lena groans, dragging the device too-roughly over to her chair and struggling with the lid. “Why can’t I just—ugh!—get it _right?_ ”

Kara watches her pry open the device, her normal efficiency lost with her flushing cheeks and jerking hand movements. Kara’s stomach twists in on itself as she watches Lena work, her frustration barely contained under her normal controlled façade. It’s… it’s just like before. Like the last time this happened. And Kara just hopes that Lena doesn’t—she just hopes things will go differently this time.

“Great!” Lena hisses sarcastically, and Kara glances down at the corporeality device to see that in her haste Lena had accidentally snapped a wire free from its mooring. Her stomach sinks.

“Lena?” Kara asks, hesitating. Floating closer only to skitter away again when Lena pushes the device abruptly towards the desk and rushes to her feet.

“I don’t know what went wrong this time,” Lena says, her voice tight. She grabs her water bottle and takes a long pull. “I thought we were close, and then—ugh! I can’t fix it if I don’t even—” She sets her water bottle down—more-or-less gently, at least—and crosses her arms. Stares intently at a desktop computer on the desk next to her, away from Kara’s probing gaze.

“You’ll figure it out,” Kara says quietly, wincing when Lena tenses up. She doesn’t want to start—doesn’t want Lena to turn her frustration onto _her_. But what sort of friend would she be if she didn’t at least _try_ to help? “I know you will.”

“Of _course_ you’d say that,” Lena says, rolling her eyes. “So glad you have such faith in me, Kara.”

“Oh, um… right,”” Kara stutters, fighting back the reflexive sting of Lena’s dripping sarcasm. “But, um, I mean… stuff like this is all about not giving up, you know? Like, how many times did Hedy Lamarr try to create a frequency-hopping signal so torpedo signals couldn’t get jammed?”

After a long, stiff silence, Lena finally sighs. “A lot.” She rubs her face, embarrassed.

Kara grins tentatively, floating towards Lena so that she’s in front of her, hovering over the desk. She ducks and twists so that she can peer up at Lena, who’s looking intently at a spot on the wall. “And how many models did Mary Jackson have to put through wind tunnels before she figured out what shapes and materials to build spaceships out of?”

“A lot.” Lena’s laugh is watery. Fine lines appear around her eyes as she fights a smile. Perhaps remembering the moments so long ago when she’d told Kara her favorite stories of scientific innovation.

“How many of those great scientists got everything working perfectly the second, or third, or even sixth time?”

“Nearly zero,” Lena admits, “but…” She cups the back of her neck, rubbing at a lingering ache she’s complained to Kara about over the past week. “But Lex—he would have gotten it on the first try.”

A chill goes down Kara’s spine at Lex’s name, at the familiar—almost reverent—tone of Lena’s voice.

“ _He’d_ know what to do,” Lena mumbles, lowering her eyes, almost shying away from Kara’s questioning stare. Looking somehow… lost, but only for a brief moment. She quickly shoves herself away from the desk with a sudden movement and paces around the room to where the malfunctioned device had been left, forgotten. “ _He’d_ have figured it all out by now, and you’d already be solid again! No, no, he wouldn’t even _need_ this machine—” She bends to scoop it up indelicately and groans at its weight. “—because _he’d_ have been able to help you get home in the first place! Gah, I just want this to _work_. I need it—” She crosses back over to her main workbench and drops the machine on the table with a loud _clang_. “To get you corporeal. And… and to prove that I'm as good as—that I can do it.”

“You don’t have anything to prove to me. I know you can do it.” Kara tries to keep her voice neutral as she scoots closer to Lena, close enough to see the ripple of her clenched jaw and the shine in her eyes. “And, Lena… Lex wouldn’t have helped me at all.”

Lena shudders and balls her fists, digging her nails into the tender skin of her palms.

“Right,” she laughs mirthlessly. “That’s… you’re right. I forgot. Of course. I just—”

“So…” Kara twists her mouth awkwardly, feeling like anything she could say at this point would be the wrong thing. “So, what do you think went wrong?” she finally blurts out, uncomfortable with the way Lena hides her face away from her.

Lena forces out a weak laugh and turns abruptly to inspect the device. “Well…” Still tense, seemingly on the verge of falling into the same dark spiral she’d been victim to after the previous test, but more relaxed than just a moment before. Focused on the machine rather than her own imagined failings, which eases the tightness in Kara’s chest.

Lena picks at the raised edge of the machine’s side panel with a nail-bitten finger. “I don’t know what happened specifically… but it was probably another issue with the wiring. Maybe I need to separate the processes…” She frowns for a moment, staring at the device as if waiting for it to reveal the answer for her. After a moment, her eyebrows raise, her back straightens. “Oh! _Oh!_ Have them routed around the induction coil in a bifurcated pattern instead of—” She reaches for a screwdriver and begins working at the panel, her earlier stress replaced with an excited energy.

Kara leans in closer, watches Lena methodically remove each screw and catch the lid of the panel as it falls. “And what’ll that do?”

Lena sets the lid and screwdriver to the side before reaching into the nest of wires. “It’ll allow the field to pick up on the electromagnetic signals. So all we need to do—”

“Is amplify the strength of the first field?”

“Exactly!” Lena’s expression is full of gratitude; her eyes shine at Kara like she’s something to behold and her mouth curls upward into a small, hopeful smile. But the moment is interrupted by a slight clicking sound coming from the side panel.

“Ah!” Lena’s smile turns victorious, and she pulls a small connector with what looks like a dozen wires leading into it slightly away from the machine, into clear sight. She gestures vaguely towards Kara with it, her attention wholly focused on the part. “You’re good at encouragement. By the way. I’m… sorry I got so testy before.”

“Well, I have practice,” Kara replies with a self-conscious shrug. “My sister is a lot like you. She’d always panic when she couldn’t get something right immediately.”

“Ah, the gifted child’s curse,” Lena sighs, dropping her gaze from Kara’s own to stare intently down at the connector pinched between her fingers. With her free hand, she pats blindly at the table beside her until she finds the precision screwdriver she’d left there earlier. “And… thanks, for that. The help. I wish I’d had family like you.”

“What do you mean?” The question falls from Kara’s tongue before she can process it. She often tries not to dig too deep into Lena’s family history, even though she burns with curiosity. But half the time questions about them just bring down Lena’s mood. And on the rare occasions she is willing to share, her answers bring down _Kara’s_. There’s so much she still doesn’t know, but Lena hates it when she _pushes_.

But now Lena barely reacts, too busy squinting one eye shut and poking around inside the connector with her screwdriver.

“Oh, Lex was sort of unreliable with encouragement,” she says, nonchalant and unfocused. After a moment, a wire pops loose, then another. “Sometimes he’d spend hours working with me to make sure I understood something, that I could get it right. But then other times he’d—I guess he’d get impatient with me. And, well, he could get…” Lena trails off with a little shrug, staring down at the wires. “I can understand why, though. He was always so much smarter than me—faster and more visionary. He’d make connections in an instant. We used to tinker together in his lab before I went away to boarding school. I must have only been eight or nine, so I certainly wasn’t much help to him. So often he’d just step in as soon as I had a problem... and of course our mother was _always_ there just at that moment to praise him. I guess I just never… measured up. Couldn’t compare to the golden boy.”

Lena shrugs, tossing the empty connector to the side and staring pointedly at her work. Her posture would scream ‘cool and collected’ if not for the flush still staining her cheeks. Present since the device had first malfunctioned, betraying her nerves.

Kara frowns, unwilling to play Lena’s confession off as nothing. “That’s so hard…”

“Yeah, well,” Lena shrugs again before bending over to rummage through an opened drawer. After a moment, she stands again, a box of fiberglass wire sleeves in hand. “Look where we are now. At least _I_ get to invent things and live somewhere that’s not a prison cell.”

Kara chuckles weakly—all too aware of the obvious deflection—but lets it go anyway. Lets the space between them fill with a comfortable enough silence as she watches Lena feed wires into two sheaths. But thoughts continue to swirl all around her head, and after another moment she blurts out, “I think Eliza favored me, actually.”

It’s something she’s never said, had always tried to remain oblivious to, even as the worries would linger and fester in her mind. “She put my papers and report cards on the fridge no matter the grade, but she’d only do that for Alex if they were extraordinary.” Of course, Alex had claimed it didn’t bother her. Having things pinned on the fridge was kids’ stuff, and she was ‘ _sixteen_ , Kara!’ But Kara had caught Alex staring sometimes during dinner, and she’d always tried not to let herself wonder...

Lena just nods, and her lack of comment is just one more nail on the coffin of Kara’s long-held doubts.

Kara dips her head, watches as Lena cuts the wire sleeves to the right length. She swallows and continues, “She was _so afraid_ to screw up that she stopped trying at all. She nearly flunked out of school, and she didn’t even tell me until later! She tried to keep it a secret instead of letting me _help_.”

“Oh?” Lena blinks up at her, surprised, as if the concept of academic failure is completely foreign to her. “What changed?”

“She got a mentor,” Kara twists her hands together. “She was offered a job in a lab—the one she’s, well… the one she was at when I died— and the director took a liking to her. Saw her potential.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Lena says. “A good mentor is life-changing. I had one, too, sort of. At MIT. I was the youngest in my class by quite a few years. I was on my own for the first time and too proud to ask for any help. But there was this professor, Martínez. He was so encouraging! He wanted me to work with him once I graduated.”

Kara tilts her head. “Why didn’t you?”

Lena shrugs. “I’d have been under him for years. With Jack, I could work immediately on projects _I_ wanted to do. And I got to be his equal partner, not his subordinate. I never stand behind a man—that’s the one good thing my mom taught me.”

Kara frowns at the mention of Lena’s mother. It’s probably the first nice thing Lena’s had to say about the woman, but it still left Kara feeling queasy. There’s something bad there, she’s sure of it.  

* * *

Lena’s singular focus stresses Kara out, and after a long enough time spent in the too-silent lab that the walls seemed to start to close in around her, Kara finally drifts out through the wall to float lazily around the city. They’d first arrived at the lab shortly after breakfast, but after so many “just a little bit longer, Kara”s the sunrise of a new day casts an orange-red light across the sky. Beautiful, even though the rising sun no longer fills her with energy. Wonderful. Almost… familiar. Lena should see it. Should take a break. After a few more seconds of floating in place and taking in the scene, Kara turns and flies back to the lab, passes through the wall and lands near Lena’s workbench. Lena doesn’t greet her, doesn’t say anything at all, and with a little pang in her chest Kara realizes she’s fallen asleep with her face on the generator. Kara lets her sleep for ten minutes, then another ten, before dipping her fingers through Lena’s shoulder.

“Lena?” she calls out gently, moving her hand up to stroke her fingers through Lena’s neck, as if she could comb through the unusually messy ponytail Lena’d made in a rush the previous day. Lena flinches and moves away from Kara’s icy hands with a small, muffled noise of protest. “Lena, honey, please take a break?”

The pet name slips off her tongue without thought and Kara’s cringes at herself, grateful that Lena’s still too asleep to notice.

“’M almost done,” Lena protests, lifting her head slowly, dazedly. “All I gotta do ‘s—”

“You need to eat,” Kara interrupts her. “You need to eat and shower and sleep, Lena. You’ve been saying you have one more thing to do for _hours_.”

“But I _do_ have, um…” Lena cuts off her protest to blink, looking confused. “Oh. I _do_ have one more thing. To do.” Her eyes look bruised from how sunken and dark-circled they are. She reaches for a pair of wire strippers, fumbling it and nearly knocking over a kit of wires. “Look, Kara, all I need to do is—”

“Please?” Kara interrupts her. She nudges her shoulder through Lena’s until Lena shudders and sighs in resignation.

“F-ine.” Lena yawns, setting her tool back on the bench and staggering to her feet. “Let’s go home.”

Home. A timid smile flutters across Kara’s face. _Home._

(Except—no. Not home. Not _Kara’s_ home, anyway. She’s… she’s _not_ staying, and it’s only going to hurt her and Lena even more if they start to think about things like… like that. Like they’re _together_. Like they’ve got any sort of relationship that could really last. Because they’re not, and they don’t. Lena has her whole life ahead of her, full of success and acceptance and love. And Kara’s dead. She has no future. Nothing left to do with herself but return to her home, to what’s left of Krypton, to Rao.

The condo is not _her_ home. It’s Lena’s. And she’ll remind Lena of this, if it comes up again. She’ll remind herself, too.)  

Lena sways unsteadily as they wait for her driver to arrive, and Kara just wishes—wishes she could hold her. To keep her steady. Instead, she just anxiously pokes at Lena’s cheek whenever her eyes flutter closed for too long. Lena falls asleep in the backseat as soon as the car peels away from the lab, sleeping through Kara’s insistent touches of her thigh and stomach when they arrive at her apartment building.

“We’re home now, Lena,” Kara tries, but it’s the side door opening and the driver’s professional, “Excuse me, Ms. Lena,” that finally wakes her up. Lena mumbles something incoherently, gathers her purse and rumpled jacket, and hands the driver a crumpled $50 bill which he accepts with a furrowed brow. And, well, sure, Kara feels a bit useless watching her accept his hand to help pull herself to her feet. _Soon_ , she thinks. _Soon_.

“Almost there,” Kara encourages as Lena makes her way through the back entrance of her condominium. “Step!” She calls as Lena shuffles from the elevator down the hall.

“I’m delirious, not blind, Kara,” Lena rolls her eyes, and Kara bites her lip hard to keep from saying anything when Lena proceeds to immediately stumble over the next step down. She stops at the door to her apartment and clumsily presses at the buttons on the keypad. Frowns when it buzzes, denying her combination.

“You changed the passcode,” Kara reminds her. “It’s 579-7866 now.”

“Right, thanks,” Lena mumbles, pressing the keys with a slight flush to her cheeks and stepping inside, holding the door unnecessarily for Kara as she always does.

“You should eat something,” Kara reminds Lena as she throws her belongings onto the kitchen table. “You have leftovers from the Iranian place, remember?”

“ _Morgh polow_ ,” Lena says. She eats silently, standing with her back against her refrigerator door, before carefully setting her dish in the sink and running water over it. She stumbles again as she makes her way across the living room toward her bedroom, and Kara instinctively sticks out her arms to steady her. They pass right through Lena uselessly, of course, and Lena just shivers a bit as she straightens up and crosses into the bedroom.

Kara stays behind, standing in the center of the room, playing with her fingers. Should she… wait for Lena to wake up? Patrol the city? She doesn’t know how long—she wants to be there when Lena wakes up.

After another minute, Lena walks dazedly back into the living room, holding her shirt to her chest. “I almost forgot,” she mumbles, bending to reach the remote. “Here,” Lena sets Kara’s Netflix queue to autoplay. “Only the finest rom-coms and dramadies. Wake me up if you need anything. And don’t let me sleep too long!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” Kara smiles brightly at Lena, who rolls her eyes. “Thank you!”

“All I need is about—” Lena pauses to yawn—“a solid four hours.”

“That’s not enough,” Kara frowns, floating through the couch to look Lena in the eye.

“It’s enough for me,” Lena clutches the shirt closer to her chest with one hand while the other waves lazily through Kara’s shoulder. “You’re sweet to worry, though.”

She turns and staggers back to bed, where she falls face-first into her sheets. Kara watches her for a moment, her heart all warm and full, before she snaps away. It’s… creepy to watch someone sleep, and Lena probably—it doesn’t matter.

Kara settles back into her spot on Lena’s couch, although she quickly abandons it to stand by the living room window. From her corner, she can keep an ear to the TV while watching the bustling city below. When she feels like she can’t spend _one more second_ indoors, she kicks her legs and rockets through the window, soaring around Lena’s building and taking in the everyday comings and goings of National City’s residents, until she settles down enough to return to their—to Lena’s condo.

* * *

The sun’s already begun to set when Lena wakes up definitely-more-than-four-hours later, still wearing only her dress pants and a bra. She grimaces as she peels herself off her bed and shuffles into her shower. Kara normally would have woken her up, “accidentally” brushing her frigid toes through Lena’s calf because she wanted to show Lena a really pretty sunrise before her big meeting or because she didn’t want Lena to get a crick in her neck from falling asleep on the couch again, but today she seems to have taken pity on Lena’s exhaustion.

Lena allows herself to luxuriate in the shower for longer than usual, enjoying the fancy showerheads she’d paid extra to have installed but rarely used due to her normal morning rush. By the time she steps back into her bedroom for a change of clothes, she feels at least moderately human again. She can hear the TV playing from the other room, and she steps out of her room with a playful rib about a broken alarm clock already on the tip of her tongue.

Except the living room is vacant, a forgotten episode of _The Office_ playing softly on the TV. The room somehow seems too big, too empty. Without Kara around, the whole place feels lifeless. Which is ironic, considering. With a forlorn sigh, Lena makes her way across the living room and to the kitchen, where she pours herself a glass of filtered water from the pitcher she keeps in her fridge. It’s not that she’s _disappointed_ Kara isn’t there waiting for her, because that would be ridiculous and—and clingy, and Lena’s _not_ clingy. It’s just that there’s nowhere else for Kara to _go_ , not really. She’s always with Lena, and Lena likes it that way.

(Even if Kara won’t be around forever.

Lena tries not to think about that.)

Lena brings her glass over to the kitchen table and sits down. It’s… too quiet—another result of Kara’s presence in her life. She taps at the table with her fingers for another moment before giving in and grabbing her tablet.

She sips her water as she skims through her notifications. Three emails about an upcoming corporate community outreach event, L-Corp’s latest income statement and retained earnings, forms to approve, forms to approve, _more_ forms to approve, and finally a Discovery article about sea turtle migration. She’s about to answer a text from her secretary about what time she’ll be in the office on Monday when Kara materializes in the chair next to her. Lena catches a brief glimpse of a wide smile before she loses focus of Kara’s features again. She shoots Kara a mock glare.

“And just _why_ didn’t you wake me up?” Lena raises her eyebrow, her patented look of intimidation in the workplace. Here, though, Kara just shrugs, acts innocent.

“Dunno, guess I wasn’t bored enough yet,” Kara replies, sugar sweet, tapping her fingers together.

Lena drops the act and cracks a smile. “Do anything interesting while I was out cold?”

“Not really,” Kara’s own grin fades just a bit, her shoulders slumping. “I… well, at first I thought I stopped a mugging, but it turns out there was a cop behind me that actually scared the guy off. He, um, must not have been able to sense me.” Kara fidgets a bit in her seat. “Or he didn’t care.”

“Oh,” Lena says. “That’s… well. At least… at least that officer was around?”

“Yeah, I mean—yeah.” Kara rocks a bit in place, and, oh, Lena said the wrong thing, didn’t she? “I mean. It’s good. For sure. I don’t… I don’t want someone to get _mugged_ just cause I couldn’t—but. But… I guess I just also want to, I dunno. Make a difference. Help, I guess. But—but it’s dumb. I just… did it all wrong. I… I _wasted_ my chance. I can’t do anything when I’m like _this_.” She gestures vaguely at herself, and Lena feels her chest tighten up, guilty.

“Of course you can!” she argues, forcing a hopefully-supportive smile. It’s… it’s her fault that Kara isn’t solid yet and still feels held back by her incorporeality.

Kara just looks down at her hands, her shoulders sagging.

“Kara, you’ve saved my life twice,” Lena reminds her, scooting closer to Kara, letting her hand drift along the surface of the table toward the blurry outline of Kara’s arms. A chill hits her fingers as she hesitantly dips her fingertips into the side of Kara’s hand. “And that’s not even counting all the advice you’ve given me. Times you’ve helped me. With… with everything.” Truly everything, too. Ranging from company decisions to advice for the speeches she’s given to what she should get for dinner that evening. And just being a friend. A desperately needed friend. Without Kara… “I don’t even know where I’d be without you right now,” Lena jokes lightly, pushing down the truth in the words.

She turns to smile at Kara, but it slides off her face when Kara ignores her, keeping her head lowered.

Lena clears her throat. Tries again. “You… you’re my guardian angel." 

Silence lingers in the room, but after a moment Kara lifts her head up slowly, cautiously. “It’s Friday night,” is all she says.

“And?” Lena raises an eyebrow, allowing the abrupt change in topic. “Got a hot date, or something?”

“You, um,” Kara mumbles, tapping her fingers nervously—but only with her free hand, letting the one Lena was not-quite-touching remain in place. “You bought candlesticks, last week, and, um. I was wondering—I was wondering if you’d still like to light them?”

“Oh,” Lena freezes. “I mean, yes. But it’s after sunset. Is that... allowed? Is that what you’d like?”

“I would.” Kara smiles just a bit too wide. “I flew by the Venezuelan place earlier and it wasn’t very crowded, if you want to get it delivered. All you have left in your fridge is lettuce and pickles.”

“Hey! I think there’s half a lemon in there, too,” Lena laughs, digging through her purse for her phone. “Remind me to order groceries later.”

“Will do!” Kara shuffles a bit in her seat and draws her feet up to rest on it. “Now go, order your food!”

Lena rolls her eyes, grabs her phone and heads into her bedroom for her charger. She orders dinner and then heads back towards the living room, where Kara will likely still be sitting where she’d been when Lena had left her. Of course. Because she can’t _do_ anything besides wait for Lena to come back and set up. How… how would it be to have Kara… real? Solid? She could once again be able to do all the little daily tasks that everyone else takes for granted. She could set the table and turn on the TV and pass Lena her phone and—and maybe after Lena had eaten her dinner she’d sit just a little too close to Kara on the couch, their shoulders brushing, pressed against each other warm and solid and _real_ , able to link hands as Netflix loaded up the next episode of Kara’s latest obsession. Able to—able to—she shouldn’t be thinking about this, fuck. Especially not without a strong bourbon in-hand to comfort her.

She returns to the kitchen to find Kara, sure enough, still hovering just over the chair (pulled a bit away from the table, and that Lena had at some point without meaning to come to think of as _Kara’s_ chair).

“Hey,” Lena calls out. Kara looks up, uncurling slightly. And Lena hadn’t even noticed how she’d been sitting, all scrunched up with her forehead pressed against her knees. Maybe… maybe it’s nothing, and Lena can distract her.  

“Thanks for the tip,” she says, sliding by Kara and letting her fingers drag through her shoulder. Cold, incorporeal, like touching air after a snowstorm. “I seriously, _seriously_ don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Kara seems to shrink in on herself, and Lena hesitates on her next step, frowning. How had that… she hadn’t _meant_ to upset her. She swallows and tries a different tactic. “Come on,” Lena says, walking to the kitchen cabinet where she’d stored the hastily-bought candlesticks. “Tell me how to do this. I have no idea.”

“I mean, I don’t either, really,” Kara confesses, her voice clipped. Defensiveness, or something else. It hits Lena, far from the first time, that there’s still so much she doesn’t _know_ about Kara. Doesn’t know quite where the lies ended and the truth began. “It’s not like I did this every week. Neither Alex nor I were particularly… observant.”

“But you know more than me,” Lena reminds her, pulling the box of candlesticks down from the cabinet and setting it gingerly on her kitchen island, followed by a small box of thin candles. She promptly demonstrates her point by struggling to push the first candle into its drip pan; no matter how firmly she presses it, it tilts sadly to the side, mocking her efforts.

A little snicker comes from her side, and Lena turns to see that Kara’s moved from her chair to hover near the counter, watching with an amused expression on her face. Lena narrows her eyes at her and points the candle in a way that’s meant to be threatening. Kara just giggles again. “It, uh, helps if you light the bottoms,” she says, trying poorly to hide her smile. “The wax’ll set, and they’ll be straight.”

“Oh,” Lena says, bending to dig through her junk drawer. Hiding her own smile a little more successfully, because a bit of light teasing is more than worth it if it distracts Kara from her own worries. She pulls out a long lighter and holds it aloft, quirking an eyebrow at Kara. “Like this?”

Kara quirks one right back at her. “That’ll do it.” Lena melts the wax on the bottom of the candles and then sets them upright in the candlesticks, one by one.

Once the candles are finally in place, Lena looks back over at Kara, a slow smirk spreading along her face. “Wine is traditional too, no?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, instead turning right around and reaching for a wine glass from the rack above her counter.

“What? Um,” Kara stutters a bit, her forehead furrowing as Lena opens her built-in wine cooler and selects a Bordeaux that her friend Sam had sent her a while back as congratulations for renaming L-Corp. “Not—not like that? It’s, like, symbolic?”

“Yeah, symbolic,” Lena agrees, filling her glass only _slightly_ more than halfway. “And the symbolism is that I’m going to enjoy a nice glass of red while we light the candles together. So don’t start with that look.”

“There’s no look!” Kara yelps, rubbing her face and looking at Lena with wide, guilty eyes. Busted. “See, no look!”

Lena snorts and sets her wine glass at the counter. “Are you ready? We can get a cha-lah bread next time.”

“ _Challah,_ ” Kara corrects gently, a little smile on her face. Not laughing, this time, but drifting closer to press her icy fingers into Lena’s forearm, needling. “Soft ‘ch’. Not like ‘ _ch’,_ in chip. Like, um… just say it like an ‘ _h’_. Like ‘Hollaback Girl.’” She gives Lena a final poke, looking smug. “And… you don’t need to say bread. Just challah.”

“Fine,” Lena sighs with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “I’ll get some c _hallah_ next time. Happy? So how do I begin?”

“Um,” Kara seems to falter, her smug posture slipping away instantaneously. “I… don’t know?”

“So you’ll correct my pronunciation of a bread but you don’t know how to light candles?” Lena teases with a lopsided grin. “Which one do I start with?”

“I don’t remember? I’ve never thought much about it!” Kara furrows her brow and leans in, peering at the candles. Lena lets her think in silence, not drawing attention to the way she subtly retrieves her tablet and googles how to light candles for Shabbat. After a moment, she motions for Kara to stand beside her.

“You start,” Lena whispers before she catches herself. “Oh, I—sorry.” She flicks the lighter on and lights both candles herself, before turning it off and setting it back aside. “There. _Now_ you start.”

“Thanks,” Kara says, her voice all thick. She makes three inward circles with her hands and then covers her face, singing the blessing in Hebrew. Lena forgets to follow her—forgets all the words and movements she’d privately memorized and worried over the week prior—too entranced by Kara’s conviction. Kara lets her hands drop to her sides when she finishes the prayer, smiling shyly at Lena.

“Now you say it in English…?” she prompts, gesturing to the tablet still resting on the table with a flush to her cheeks and a painfully earnest expression. And so Lena does, reading aloud from her tablet after quite thoroughly forgetting the very first line when Kara smiles brightly at her. After a quick blessing over the wine, Lena moves everything to her kitchen island. She finds a leftover mint in her bag and savors it while she waits for her dinner to be delivered. Kara stays close to the candles, staring into their depths. As if she’s able to see something Lena can’t in the gently flickering flames. Memories, perhaps. Of nights like this spent with the Danvers. Or perhaps something older, something from her life before them, before she’d… arrived on the planet.

An involuntary shiver passes over Lena at the thought. She never _had_ asked Kara about why she came to Earth. At first, the sting of betrayal from her closest friend had been too raw, the wound too fresh for her to try digging around in. But there’s more to it than that, she knows. It’s… strange, to think of Kara as an _alien_. She… she knew Kara so well, had been so close to her, and Kara had just.

Had seemed so normal.

And Lena is _not_ her brother. She fervently hopes and prays that she never will be. Watches every burst of anger and fleeting, irrational instinct as though it’s the first loose stone in the avalanche that will be her downfall, grateful that at least she and Lex aren’t biologically related. But her experience with aliens is certainly… limited. Comments that Lex had made even before his ruinous obsession with Superman had fully consumed him still linger in her mind. Little seedlings of paranoia and fear that he’d planted and nurtured carefully until they could grow on their own. _‘They’re_ hiding _,’_ he’d tell her, _‘Lying! Trying to gain our sympathy and plotting while we roll over and show them our weaknesses. Don’t let them do that to you. You’re smarter than that. Their word means nothing. And their friendship means_ less _than nothing._ ’ An easy enough statement to push from her mind, to try to ignore, but a near-impossible one to keep from coming back, haunting her thoughts, lingering in the back of her head like a weed she can’t fully uproot.

The years spent around the Luthors combined with regularly fielding the sensationalized press questions directed towards her in hopes of finding an appropriately incriminating soundbite, and Lena had rarely thought about an alien like Kara. One with… a family. Friends. A job, hobbies, favorite foods. A taste for ridiculous reality TV shows and a startlingly intense adoration of Pomeranians.

Kara’s nothing like she imagined an _alien_ would be, and even simple reminders that Kara wasn’t a human had left Lena feeling staggered, off-kilter, like she’d been bowed over by a sudden storm. And so she hasn’t been thinking about it. Hasn’t been… _fair_ , she knows. She _knows_. She hasn’t been a good friend. Ironic, that Kara’s not even human and yet she’s still better at being friendly than Lena is.

Lena sighs, pressing her hip against the counter. She’s such an idiot sometimes. She frowns down at the wine still remaining in her glass and lifts it to her lips, draining it. This isn’t working. This… this _stupid_ head-in-the-sand game has gone on too long, and it’s not getting her anywhere. All it’s done is leave a lingering tension to grow stale between them any time the subject of Kara’s life comes up. Kara hasn’t mentioned anything about herself since the confession, neither the funny stories from work she used to share to make Lena laugh after a rough day nor the fond and loving stories about the various misadventures she’d gotten up to with her sister that Kara would tell her late at night with a bittersweet smile and a deep sense of longing. And now she won’t even talk to Lena enough to tell her what she’s thinking about, about what it is she sees, leaning over the kitchen counter so close to the shrinking candles that it gives Lena a start before she remembers Kara can’t be burned like this.

Kara seems to notice her staring, and she lifts her head to shoot Lena a broad smile that makes her heart pang. Fuck. They’re best friends. The term… it doesn’t even do enough to capture how important Kara has become in Lena's life. Meanwhile, Lena’s been avoiding her like a petulant child. Kara deserves better than Lena, in so many ways. But she can do better. She can _try_.

She looks down again, at her empty wine glass, as though she can divine guidance in the dregs. At the very least, she probably can’t screw this up more than she already has.

The ringing doorbell draws Lena from her thoughts for a short time, but they return to plague her while she eats. Kara doesn’t seem to be much in the mood for conversation; she continues to stare at the candles as they burn, following beads of melted wax with her eyes, moving closer and closer as if she could be warmed by their flickering, yellow light.

Lena finishes her meal in silence, and when she brings her leftovers into the kitchen to put them away Kara barely seems to notice her. She hesitates a moment before refilling her wine glass for the third time that evening. She’s not exactly in the habit of confronting her own social missteps—hasn’t been since she learned as a child that her fumbling apologies were unwanted—and now she finds herself as anxious as she had been before her very first board meeting as the new interim CEO of LuthorCorp. She takes sip of her drink and lets the bittersweet taste linger on her tongue until the jumbled thoughts racing through her mind quiet and her shaking hands still.

“Kara?” She keeps her voice soft, but Kara startles anyway, looking up at Lena as if she’d only just appeared. “Shall we move to the couch? I want to—I want to talk,” Lena adds, setting her glass on a coaster and then stepping carefully around Kara to fetch the candlesticks, lifting one in each hand before heading into the living room. She walks slowly, so as not to disturb the flames. Kara hovers behind, nervous.

“Careful, Lena!” She says, passing by Lena to anxiously float through the coffee table near the couch. “You can just leave them—they don’t need to be moved.”

“I want to keep an eye on them,” Lena sets the candles down and shrugs. She grabs her glass and then sits back on the couch, relaxing and letting herself sink just a little into the cushions. She takes a second, longer sip to buy herself more time to gather her thoughts. “I want to enjoy them more.” It’s not entirely the truth; the candles themselves are an afterthought, a sidenote. Pretty enough, but not special in their own right. But Kara’s near-reverent reaction to them? Lena wants to savor it. 

“O-oh, well, thank you for all this,” Kara mumbles, gesturing to the candles as she drifts over to the couch. Sits only just far enough away from Lena to keep the chill in the air that followed her around away. “It meant a lot to, um, to light them. To share that with you.” Kara ducks her head, and Lena only wishes that she could see her in more detail, see whether or not her cheeks would flush pink at the admission.

“My pleasure,” Lena says into her glass, smiling at Kara over the rim. “Next time you can light them.”

Kara clasps her hands in front of her chest, her sunny smile making the room seem warmer around them. “So… what did you think?” Kara asks, brushing her hands by her temples and tucking her hair behind her ears.

“It’s a lovely ritual,” Lena says. “I didn’t realize how meditative it could be.”

“Yeah,” Kara smiles. “I’ve always found it really… I dunno. Grounding?” She laughs once at her own words, breathless and strange.

“It’s inspiring,” Lena admits, her own cheeks warm with the confession. “As, well. As someone who believes in so little, and certainly not the good of human nature nor a higher power. To see you… for you to share that with me. It was really beautiful. Breathtaking.”

Kara covers her face with her hands and rocks a little bit in place. “Stop…” she mumbles.

“I mean it,” Lena insists, nudging through Kara’s ankle with her foot. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“No problem,” Kara says with a smile, although after just a moment longer her expression turns more serious. “Um, Lena, about everything…”

“No,” Lena interrupts her, her stomach twisting with nerves even despite the slight tingle she can feel in her fingers from the wine. “Before you say anything, I just wanted to say…that—that I’m sorry. For not—being ready to listen about your… um…” she fumbles her words, her tongue feeling thick in her mouth as she stutters awkwardly. “Your heritage. Alien heritage. I mean.”

Kara flinches, either at Lena’s uncomfortable choice in words or her overly stiff tone, and Lena thinks to herself, _fuck_. She keeps… making this worse, no matter what she tries. And there’s never been a point in her life that she’s so strongly felt the detrimental effect of growing up with very few true friends as right now, when she’s trying to stumble her way through the process of cleaning up the mess she’s made of a relationship she values so highly. The path of the conversation matters, because the results matter, because _Kara_ matters, and Lena can feel it all slipping further out of her control the harder she tries to rein it in, like she’s skidding on a frozen road, careening towards certain death.

Kara stares at Lena in surprise. Her gaze is deep and uncanny; it’s almost like _she_ can see through Lena. “Um,” she says after a moment. “Alright. Thank you…?” It’s clear she’s as unprepared for this conversation as Lena is, and the thought _almost_ brings her a bit of comfort.

“So, um—” Lena hesitates, clears her throat. She hadn’t thought anything out. Had rushed into this completely unprepared, guided only by her own guilt. Fuck.

The Shabbat candles have burned down a little more than halfway, although they still cast warm oranges across the room. Lena stares down at her hands and traces the lifeline on her right palm. Out of the corner of her vision she can see Kara’s crossed legs on the cushion next to her, but they cast no shadows. In the light of candles, when she’s still enough, Kara just… disappears.

Sometimes Lena forgets just how truly alone Kara is, like this. Lena has always been somewhat of a loner herself, and she _certainly_ hasn’t won any popularity contests since moving to National City. She’d tried to meet people, tried to expand her limited friend group and _socialize_ , but if her last name wasn’t enough to send people running, her status and forever-busy schedule were. And if she’s being honest with herself, she’s been enjoying Kara’s company. But, at the same time, she has the _option_ to talk to others, if she needed it. She speaks to her secretary-slash-assistant, Jess, on a daily basis during the week, and likes to make a point of visiting the labs to speak with the techs as often as she can find the time. Her friend Sam texts her sporadically, usually pictures of her and her daughter, and just recently Jack had called to cautiously ask her how she’s been doing. Not exactly the most impressive social circle, but Lena is content. In comparison, Kara truly has nobody else she can talk to, nobody else she can trust. Nobody else she can turn to when Lena reacts badly or pushes her away.

And so Lena _wants_ Kara to feel comfortable around her. Like she can be open. True to—to _all_ her identities, even as Lena struggles to… understand them. Kara deserves so much better than Lena, but she’s stuck with her, and Lena needs to make things right.

“I just wanted to… explain, I guess. Why I’ve been—” Stupid. Petty. Awful. “—distant, lately.” She fusses with the glass in her hands before deciding to set it aside on the table, away from immediate temptation. “I mean, I just want to understand what it’s like. For me.” Lena gestures vaguely between the two of them with her open palm. “To… to find out you’re an _alien_ , after all this time _._ It’s been hard for me to figure out what it all _means_ , you know?”

“Um,” Kara winces, twisting her hands in her lap. “I don’t underst—” 

“You have to remember, Kara. I’m a _Luthor_ ,” Lena continues with a self-deprecating laugh. “We don’t exactly have the best running track record for dealing with aliens.” 

“Lena,” Kara says, her voice tight, “your name isn’t important right now. That’s not what this is about.”

“It _is_ , though!” Lena leans closer towards Kara, close enough that she can begin to feel the air around her grow cooler. “I don’t—I’ve never done _this_ before!” She tries to reach for the space where Kara’s hand rests on her leg. But Kara just pulls quietly away from her, and Lena can feel the nerves rising in her throat. She draws her hand back and crosses her arms in front of herself. “I’ve never actually _talked_ to an alien before you. It’s always just been this… abstract concept, I suppose. Something to talk about during press conferences, to make a statement. ‘Miss Luthor, what do you think about the growing alien population in National City?’ Not—not one sitting with me in the kitchen during breakfast.” She forces out a weak laugh, tightening her hands until the feeling of her nails digging into the side of her arm distract her from the feeling of Kara’s piercing stare. The silence stretches on for far too long, and once Lena decides she can’t stand it any longer she continues, “So, that’s all I’m trying to explain. I don’t… know what to do, here. I don’t know what you want me to say.” She turns her attention to the glass of wine still waiting for her on the coffee table, and reaches for it. Needs something to distract her from the expectant look on Kara’s face.

She tips the glass back and does her best not to read too much into the way Kara’s shoulders seem to slump over when she realizes Lena has nothing left to say. She sets the empty glass back on the table and forces a smile, prompting.

“Um,” Kara starts, “I don’t—” she sighs, frustrated, and wipes at her face. Leans forward in place on the couch to look down at the floor. “I don’t _want_ you to say anything! That’s not—you can’t— _ugh!_ ” She groans and rubs her forehead for a brief moment before turning quickly to face Lena, her expression fiery. “I’m not _different_ than I used to be, you know!

“But you—all this, it _is_ different, to me,” Lena stutters. A flush comes over her, all nerves and wine, in stark contrast to Kara’s deathly chill at the end of her couch.

“How so?” Kara asks, her voice low and unnaturally steady. She shifts in her seat, and Lena catches a brief flash of her face, her downcast eyes and stony expression. As if she were bracing herself. Afraid of whatever Lena might say. And it _hurts_ , because Lena’s long since gotten used to the people who expect the Luthor heiress to spew xenophobic filth whenever she so much as opens her mouth. She expects that treatment, even. But Kara’s not just some stranger or a reporter desperate for a scandal, she’s Lena’s _friend_. She _knows_ her. Moreover, Lena trusts Kara. Almost dangerously so. And if _Kara_ thinks she’s—then...

Lena forces out a laugh, quick and nervous. “How—how could it _not_ be different, Kara?” She curls her hands into tight fists on her lap, straightens her back. “My whole life I’ve thought that aliens were—ugh, I don’t _know!_ ” Digs her nails into the base of her palm to hide the way her hands shake. “And then I met you, and I thought I knew you so well, and we’ve spent so much time together, and you just seem so—” She cuts herself off with a sigh, slumping her shoulders a bit. “You’re not what I thought you’d be.”

Silence hangs between them for a moment, although the tension coursing through Lena’s body begins to fade to a dull sense of resignation. She doesn’t know how to fix things. She doesn’t know how to apologize. She doesn’t know how to be a better—

“Lena,” Kara says finally, moving her arm tentatively closer to the side of Lena’s leg, testing. “I’m just a person. Aliens are just… they’re—we’re people. There’s not a ‘right’ way to be.” She chuckles once to herself, somber. “Most of us are pretty nice, I think. There are a few jerks, though. I knew one guy who would always cut me in line for coffee.”

Kara smiles, but even her brightest grin fails to lighten Lena’s mood, her sudden despondency, her catatonia, as she continues to frown down at her lap. “What can I do then?” Lena asks, her voice weak and hesitant as her control slips. “I don’t know how—where do I even start?”

Kara sighs and draws away from Lena again, her smile dropping away in an instant. “Just… just _listen!_ ” She turns away from Lena to stare instead at the candles, flickering and melting and dripping wax onto the glass of the coffee table. “We used to talk so much! We could… tell stories and share moments and talk about anything—almost anything. But now any time something about my life comes up you just shut down and pretend I’m not—pretend I’m someone else.” Kara’s voice catches in her throat. “I just—” She stops to clear her throat, still refusing to meet Lena’s eyes. “I just miss how things used to be. But now I’ve told you my biggest secret, that I’ve never told _anyone_ aside from my family, and it’s like—like you don’t even _care!_ ”

“I—how can you—of _course_ I care!” Lena stutters out. Kara turns to face her once again, but even without being able to see her eyes clearly Lena can feel that the gaze is harsh. “That’s—that’s what I’ve been trying to say this whole time! And I’m sorry that I haven’t been ready to talk about it sooner, but I’ve just—no, I’m sorry. We can… we can talk now?” She looks at Kara for any sign of reaction, but gets nothing. She starts to reach for her wine glass once again before remembering it is already empty, and instead folds her hands delicately over her lap. “But where—where would we even start?”

It’s a fair point, she thinks, because she _does_ have questions. She has so many questions. Things that have lingered in the back of her mind, but that she was unable to bring up, too intent on tiptoeing around the issue for as long as she possibly could. Because one question will open the door for a dozen others, and as much as she can’t stand the feeling of unsolved problems, just the thought of Kara—her friend Kara, goofy and gentle and soft and all the good that Lena couldn’t find in herself—talking easily about how she arrived on Earth and what she thought of _humans_ is more than Lena can handle. It’s still unsettling, in a way, but she’s shuffled her feet too long already.

“Where would we start?’” Kara repeats, her tone dull and low. “Lena, when I tried to tell you my _name_ , you—you spit it back in my face.”

And, oh. _Oh_. Lena never—of course Kara had—she hadn’t even _thought_ —oh. And now, with all the time that’s passed, all the time she’s wasted, she can’t even... Lena’s cheeks burn hot with embarrassment, and she determinedly ignores the sting at the back of her eyes. She can’t cry, not when _she_ was the one who—

She’s been doing this all wrong. She lets her shoulders slump down, her whole body sag. “I… you’re right. I should have listened. I should have been listening all along.” Her voice is thick, her throat tight. “I don’t know why I thought… I’ve been so…” She stops, takes a moment to find her words amidst her scrambling, guilt-ridden thoughts. “I miss how things used to be, too. And I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get here. You may remember I once said I wasn’t used to having friends.” She laughs once at her own words. “And I’m not. But I want to be a better friend for you. I’m _going_ to be.”

“You _have_ been,” Kara says, her voice soft but insistent. She moves closer to Lena, finally bridging what felt like an irreparable gap between them, and the eerie chill that emanates from her skin has never felt so welcoming. Lena leans in closer, as well, almost lets herself believe the words. “I mean it, Lena. You’ve—you’ve done _so much_ for me. And, yeah, this has been rough. But I know you’re a good person. One of the best.”

Lena laughs, watery and weak. Still so unused to the way Kara can say such terrifying things like that so freely. It leaves her speechless, fluttery and warm, even as she feels a tear spill down onto her cheek. Even as she moves even closer to Kara, letting Kara’s icy shoulder pass through her own. “Kara, can we just… can we start over?” she whispers finally, her head dipped low. “Would you, um. Would you tell me your name?”

She can hear the slight smile in Kara’s voice when she speaks, “My name is Kara Zor-El.” She says the name with a hint of pride, a hint of something else, and Lena wonders how much she’s missed out learning about her closest friend after all this time.

And so she does the only thing that makes sense; she lifts her head to meet Kara’s eyes as best she can and offers her hand. “Well,” she says, feeling lost, feeling her world tilt diagonal on its axis, but feeling hopeful, like it would right itself on its own, “it’s nice to meet you, Kara Zorel.”

Kara snorts a little, but lifts up her own hand to meet Lena’s, an unnatural cold passing through Lena’s palm as Kara ignores Lena’s offer to shake hands in favor of attempting to link their fingers. “Good to meet you, too, Lena Luthor.”

Kara keeps her hand steady, her palm dipping into Lena’s and their fingers nearly intertwined, and Lena wouldn’t break the almost-contact for the world.

“Am I saying that right?” Lena asks, closing her eyes and inhaling. Her hand is freezingly, numbingly cold, and she brings it to rest beside her on the couch, smiling a bit when Kara follows with her own. “Zorel?”

Kara laughs, breathless and airy. “There’s a pause. Zor- _El_. My father’s name.”

“Zor- _El_ ,” Lena repeats. “And your mother’s name?” Lena flexes her hand just slightly so Kara knows she’s listening.

“Alura,” Kara swallows. “Alura In-Ze.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” Lena says. “Thank you for sharing, Kara.”

Kara squeezes Lena’s hand in return, although her fingers just pass uselessly through her palm.

“And…” Lena starts to say.

“Yes,” Kara’s voice hitches, a reverent murmur broken by emotion.

_And they died when you were young_? Lena burns to ask.  _That part of your story is still true_ _?_

But—she’s done enough damage tonight. Even she can see how Kara’s eyes are red-rimmed, how she trembles.

Lena takes a slow breath, inhales and holds it. “Nevermind,” she says, letting it go for a count of four. “We’re good. I think I’m starting to understand.”

“Oh,” Kara deflates a little. 

“Tell me about them?” Lena recovers quickly, twitching her fingers just slightly, turning her head to smile at Kara until Kara smiles back. “Whatever—whatever you feel comfortable sharing.”

“ _Well_ ,” Kara breathes, and then her words flash like lightning, like she's rehearsed what she was going to tell Lena already, like her thoughts have built up so much potential that the only way they can come out is in quick strikes. 

 

Their conversation lasts hours into the night, until Lena’s confused, swirling thoughts feel as if they could burst right out of her head. She’d been left feeling hazy, dumbstruck. As if she'd been electrocuted. As if someone had just come to her with evidence that magic existed. Because, really, the whole thing—the whole story sounded like a dream, a fairytale, the plot of a sci-fi movie. And yet Kara _promises_ she's telling the truth, and Lena trusts her. Above all else, ignoring every Luthor-trained instinct in her, she trusts her. Kara, her best friend, her—she really is from another planet. A planet with towering spires and a red sky lit by a sun Kara speaks of with reverence. A planet whose destruction had sealed the fates of every single member of Kara’s species, except for her and another, sent away in futuristic pods beyond human understanding to drift among the stars for over two decades. It’s incredible that someone like Kara—bright and cheerful and personable—could have such a tragic past. _Her_ Kara is a refugee, one of two survivors of an entire people, and she’s still so effervescent. Joyful. It’s… she’s incredible.

Knowing this side of Kara leaves Lena even more breathless than before.  

The next morning is fueled by sweet espresso shots and a brisk shower before heading to the lab. Her life had become so consumed with running L-Corp that she hadn’t taken the time to work in the lab herself in the months leading up to creating Kara’s corporeality device. She missed it dearly—the feeling of metal and wire and plastic beneath her fingers; the rush when she figured out a puzzle, teetering on the precipice of success or failure. She and Lex had called it Schrödinger’s moment of truth, the hitched breath before they would know for certain whether an invention worked or not.

Shaking her head to clear the past from her mind, Lena rolls an upper terminal in her hands. She blows on it for luck and slots it into the breaker.

Kara’s not with her in the lab today, instead happily watching a classic movie marathon at their condo while Lena works. She’d initially wanted to stay in the lab during the whole process, but as hours turned to days and Lena grew increasingly less chatty, she’d realized her presence was only stressing Lena out. So she’d begun to stay home while Lena went into the lab, only popping by for the big moments or to remind Lena to take a break.

Lena double checks the wiring on the device. Her nail catches a loose joint and she frowns, grabbing her soldering iron and melting the filler around it. She continues poking at joints and filaments, making minute adjustments to the circuit board and the wires protruding from the generator.

The corporeality device needs to work. It needs to be _perfect_. Any mistake, any careless calculation or sloppily wired circuit had the potential to destroy what little atomic signature Kara had left. The failure of the first tests were mortifying and frustrating. The smaller tests she’d run since then were promising, but without a way to run the dual fields through a similar immaterial subject it was impossible to know the results. The third test _needed_ to work—Lena needed to prove that she could do it to herself, to Kara and to the doubtful voices of her mother and Lex always lingering in the back of her mind.

Lena could make the theoretical tangible. Lena could materialize a ghost. Lena could do the impossible, could pluck Kara from the air like a bubble from a wand.

With a small smile, Lena tugs her tablet onto her lap. She triple-checks the formula for the black body field. The detection field was easy, really—she could have written it for fun on a lazy Saturday afternoon as a child. But the black body was complex, combining concrete physics with ideas that were nearly science fiction.

The Luthor Field—because she _is_ a Luthor, _damn it_ , and her brother does _not_ have a monopoly on using their last name—would make something straight out of science fiction into reality. It would… it would revolutionize the fields of quantum mechanics, engineering, even astrophysics.

But that’s only if she can make it _work_.

Satisfied, Lena sets her tablet down and leans back. She blinks up at the lights and fights a yawn.

Should she call Kara now? No, she needs to check the wiring one more time.

Lena stands slowly, rubbing at her eyes. She shakes out her limbs one at a time for seven seconds each and rolls her neck.

“Tonight could be the night,” she whispers to herself. She could give Kara her freedom. She could give Kara her independence. She could give her the option to leave. To choose someone else to stay with during her search for her sister. Someone… better.

Lena bites down hard on her lower lip. She shouldn’t—she _couldn’t_ —it isn’t right to dread Kara’s encroaching departure.

_What,_ she thinks, _were you going to have her never be more than a whisper behind you forever_?

Kara—sweet, sensitive and bright Kara—deserves better than that. She deserves to soak up the sun and cuddle under a blanket and relax in a bath. She deserves the ability to go where she wanted and interact with the world like everyone else. She deserves to bring light into other people’s lives.

Even… even if it means she’ll leave Lena.

Which, Lena reminds herself, she’s going to do anyway, in the end. Once they find Alex, Kara has no reason to stay. But the corporeality device will make it real. It’ll make Kara real. It'll be the first step towards ending her life. _Lena_ will be responsible for the end of Kara’s terrestrial life.

She laves her tongue over the indents her teeth left on her lip. Her mouth is sour.

_Don’t feel bad when she runs out_ , Lena tells herself. _Don’t feel bad when she’s so excited to be corporeal that she leaves._

Because what kind of monster feels hurt that the ghost they’ve had unfettered access to for the better part of a year might want to do something without her?

Lena quadruple-checks the formula.

* * *

 

The flight to Lena’s lab is quiet, full of jitters and nervous smiles. Kara bites her lip and twitches her fingers as she watches Lena do one final systems check. She’s so _close_ to being real again that she can almost feel it, a surge of energy all throughout her body that keeps her from sitting still.

“Okay,” Lena says, finally, her eyes bright and her smile wide as she snaps the lid of the generator closed. She smoothes out her shirt and picks up a large, plastic gun-looking device from a tripod cradle. Kara’s heart skips a beat on instinct alone. It looks... unsettling.

She stands up a little taller, straightens her back. “Um, is that a police… thingie? That they use to track your speed?”

Lena snorts, fighting back a smile. “It might have started its life as a lidar speed detection device, yes. Or a ‘thingie’, if you will.”

Kara laughs weakly, her voice catching a bit in her throat. She’s—she’s nervous, okay? She can admit it! She has been nervous since before ever since the first test. But this time, after Lena had promised her that she’d had a breakthrough, Kara’s nerves have ramped up to a new level. She’s gonna—she’s gonna be solid again. Be real again. She’ll have to manage her strength and not bump into the walls she’s used to phasing through and search for Alex but how will she do that now that Kara Danvers was declared dead years ago and does that mean she’ll need a new identity and who will she even talk to to find Alex and she’ll have to be careful too cause she won’t be able to fly freely around the city and then there’s _Lena_ and she’ll finally be able to touch Lena for real, and… and…

And she maybe even wishes she had just a little more time. Being solid could be the beginning of the end, the missing step towards getting her closer to being able to talk to Alex, to find her way home. But it’s just. It’s happening so fast. And that’s supposed to be a good thing—it _is_ a good thing! But.

Luckily Lena’s too focused on a dial on the modified lidar to pay any mind to Kara’s growing nerves and racing thoughts. After a moment, Lena stops fussing with the dial and takes a deep breath. Pauses, eyes closed. Squares her shoulders, and Kara knows that it’s _time._

“Okay,” Lena says, her voice steady. “Hold still.” She squats by the generator, teetering a moment in her heels, and turns it on. It glows yellow, casting an eerie glow over the room. “You ready?” Lena asks, raising the lidar and pointing it directly at Kara’s chest.

Kara swallows. “Y-yes.” Hundreds of thoughts rushing through her mind all at once, tangled and confused, but there’s no time. She has to be ready. She has to—

“Okay. One, two—”

“Wait!” Kara flinches and holds up her hands. Lena loosens her grip on the trigger.

“I,” Kara swallows. “I just wanted to thank you, Lena.” She had to say that. Before she’s—just in case. Her heart pounds hard in her chest, but she remains still, staring over at Lena with an almost pleading expression. “For _everything_.”

Lena shrugs slightly, turns her head away, deflects. Deflects, even as her cheeks turn a bright pink. “You have nothing to thank me for yet.”

“Are you kidding?” Kara laughs a bit in disbelief. “You decided to stay in National City for me! You let me live with you! You hired a PI to find my sister! You invented something straight out of a sci-fi movie just to help me out while I look for her!”

Lena bites her lip, her flush spreading across her face. “It—it’s nothing, really. It’s what anyone would have done.”

Kara snorts, incredulous. “You’re joking, right!? No, no, this is—” Kara gestures at the room around them, “—this is _incredible!_ And so are you! You’re… you’re kind, and you’re patient, and you’re so, _so_ smart. Thank you for helping me. I really mean it.”

Lena flashes Kara an awkward and somewhat desperate smile. “Are—are you ready?” The pink tint to her cheeks has spread down her neck, dusted along her chest.

Kara holds their eye contact for a moment longer, unwilling to just let Lena try to play the compliments down as she’s so prone to do. Finally, Kara blinks, looks away from Lena and up at the ceiling and takes in a large breath of air she doesn’t need. _Now or never_ , she tells herself. In a few moments, she’ll be real again. Hopefully. Probably. More than probably. Or, if it fails, she’ll be—

“Yes,” she says, her voice thin. “Ready. For real this time.”

“For real,” Lena agrees. She pulls the trigger.


End file.
